


another twenty

by restlessvirtue



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: (hang in there i beg you), F/M, alexa play slow burn by kacey musgraves, coach scott vibes, hi i'm back please validate me, my usual deal tbh, skating coach au, soft and fluffy and a little angsty, this is exactly the kind of longform i was trying to avoid writing lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-09-14 04:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16906071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restlessvirtue/pseuds/restlessvirtue
Summary: A different kind of 20 years. One where he’s a coach and she’s never skated. But they find each other anyway, because won’t they always?By virtue, not otherwiseand all that.





	1. the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> After the very long, seven-month saga of a fic I just finished, I'd intended to maybe take a break, lounge by the pool (what pool? I don't know), take a little time, eventually knock out some one-shots, perhaps. Anyway, here I am already at the start of another long one – I just followed where my heart took me. I hope you'll join me on another little adventure – this time something more AU. 
> 
> Thank you to [bucketofrice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketofrice/pseuds/bucketofrice) and [falsettodrop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsettodrop/pseuds/falsettodrop) for being the reason I get anything posted, to be quite honest. I write a lot and then tend to store it up for winter, assuming it's not good enough, so having their support and encouragement has been a godsend.

Elsie Virtue enters his life on one ordinary September morning.

She’s tightly gripping the hand of her grandmother as she takes the few cautious steps up to the boards of the Ilderton Arena, using her limited upper body strength to peer over the top to get a view of the much bigger kids who are already out on the ice.

When you’re six years old, every day makes the difference. It’s six years and three quarters, in Elsie’s case. Eventually, she’ll learn that she’s the youngest by precisely five months and four days. On that first day, her grandma fast begins to worry that it might be all too much too soon for the shy little girl at her side.

Elsie says nothing. She doesn’t whine or cry. She’s dead silent, her terror registering in her eyes and the vice-tight grip she has on the edge of the boards now.

Kate looks down at the little one, curiously watching the way she’s studying the skaters in front of her. There are no standout talents; it’s young kids just learning to walk, as it were. They’re clinging to friends or the boards, mostly. But to Elsie, it’s an intimidating field of strange faces, and when they look over, they begin to study her right back.

Elsie looks away when she makes eye contact, not wanting to be caught staring. That’s when she sees him for the first time: a bright, friendly smile smoothly gliding in her direction.

That’s the beginning.

 

***

 

It’s another year before Scott meets Tessa.

There’s a little girl on her hip, shyly burying her face into her mother’s shoulder. There’s a stillness to both of them that provides a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding them: kids being told off, rookies wobbling at the boards, the crackle of old speakers.

(Later, he’ll say it was instantaneous.)

When, eventually, the little girl turns her head, he sees that it’s Elsie – his secret favourite, though he’d never admit it.

He skates over, only conscious of his movement seconds after his legs start pushing off in their direction.

“Are you ready to show me how it’s done, E?” he calls out, earning the small child’s attention and a bright, sunny smile that transforms her whole demeanour – big, green eyes sparkling. The little one gives a decisive nod and immediately wriggles to be let down.

When he glances at the woman and sees those same familiar eyes looking back at him, he knows unequivocally that it’s Elsie’s mother. Her hair is darker, her features sharper, but it's unmistakable. She looks young – a little younger than a lot of the other parents he meets at the rink, and they’re pretty young to begin with. (27, it turns out.)

Tessa’s face registers a little surprise as the young girl lets go of her completely to move onto the ice, skating around to Scott with sudden purpose. Confidence seems to overtake her body. She glides more comfortably and effortlessly than the few steps she’d walked up to the ice.

“Who’s come with you today then, kiddo?”

“That’s my mom,” she says as quietly as ever, tucking her chin down as though to bury her words, but it’s a volume Scott’s learned to adapt to, to tune into to catch even the smallest of comments.

“Your mom! Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Elsie’s mom,” he greets warmly, reaching his hand across the boards.

“Tessa,” she tells him.

 

*

 

He doesn’t see so much of Kate after that. Instead, Tessa is there for every practice. She always brings a book that she never reads. The pages lie open, her hands limply rested in the fold as her eyes instead follow the glide of Elsie’s skates.

She watches so carefully, a concerned, cautious gaze on her daughter at all times. It has none of the scrutiny that he notices in the other parents. It’s something more like awe. Her features are soft and, every now and then, Scott notices the way her eyebrows lift with the movement of Elsie’s skating. Or there’s a subconscious nod of the head, a sly smile, a subtle lean forward.

He shouldn’t be watching her. But he does.

Even when Elsie falls, she’s restrained in her reaction. Scott’s used to the kids’ parents calling out from the boards or tripping over themselves to do something; it’s always possessed by sharp panic rather than reasoned response. But Tessa’s eyes close sharply, and then she waits. Scott looks over at her, a pointed look in his eye as if commanding her to hold off, asking her to trust him.

(He finds himself oddly unsurprised when she does.)

Together, they watch Elsie find her footing, biting down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering, before stroking out again. And it’s like nothing happened. Her face transforms. She grits her teeth, a steely determination appearing in her eyes.

“You okay, kiddo?”

She nods firmly as she passes him by. “Are you okay, Coach?”

He laughs at that, finding it too charming not to, but then he sees the genuine question in her expression. Eyes big with concern as she looks up at him, her face is the picture of innocence.

“Gimme a high five, you.”

Elsie slaps her hand to his and speeds off behind the other kids doing their drills. He watches her go and then turns to Tessa to mouth, “Show off!” as he points in the little girl’s direction.

Scott doesn’t notice the tension in Tessa’s expression until he sees it drain away. Her stillness, momentarily interpreted as a lack of reaction, was, in fact, a measured choice. Composure. She’d muted her emotions to respond to Elsie.

He comes to understand a little more when she catches him after practice. Elsie’s taking off her skates and Scott’s lingering at the edge of the ice, one elbow rested on the boards when she approaches him. She’s so quiet that he doesn’t notice her sneaking up behind him – and that’s despite how much he notices Tessa the rest of the time, despite the way his eyes are drawn back to her every time she enters the room.

“Hey,” he hears first, soft and meek, but still startling enough to prompt him to jump a little as he turns around to face her. “Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” he rushes to reassure her, helpless to suppress the broad grin that stretches across his face when he realizes it’s Elsie’s mom. It’s Tessa. “Hey. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I, uh… I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Ask away!” he says, eager. A little too eager.

“So, I can’t skate,” Tessa blurts out in one big breath.

“You–”

“I can’t skate. But Elsie… This is her favourite thing in the world these days.” She turns in the direction of her daughter who’s too caught up with the web of laces to take any notice, her little fingers deftly weaving to pull the skating boot open. There’s a new, fond smile fixed to Tessa’s expression when she turns back to Scott, softer and more authentic than the enigmatic facade he’s grown so curious about. Her openness invites him in for just a moment, allowing a foot in the door, at least. “I watch her out there and she’s just… transformed by it. It’s like she knows who she is when she’s on the ice with you.”

Scott’s silent. He nods along almost imperceptibly, offering silent encouragement to every word.

“That’s why I came. I tried to get her into everything: field hockey, soccer, tennis, swimming, ballet. I wanted her to find something, something to bring her out of her shell. I wanted her to shine.”

Scott’s head tilts to one side, swept up in a smile. “I think you got your wish, Tessa.”

Tessa nods, formal and a little stilted. “My mother told me I had to come and see it for myself, and she was right.

“The thing is,” she continues, “I don’t want to miss out on that part of her life. So, I wondered if you… maybe knew someone who could coach me a little bit? It doesn’t need to be, you know, a big thing. I’m not trying to do axels. I just want to be able to skate around with her.”

“You want to learn to skate – for Elsie?” he clarifies, staring more intensely than he means to, taking in the mustered strength in her face: the way her brow furrows, the way her mouth tightens, the way she swallows as soon as she finishes speaking.

Tessa takes in a deep breath, lowering her voice to say, "My daughter's shy. She's beautiful and brilliant and kind, and funny too.” She stops, searching for the right words, before adding, “But she's shy. She doesn't really like to talk. To anyone, really. But she likes you. And she loves this; she loves to skate. And if this is what's going to help my daughter, I want to be a part of it.”

Perhaps he falls in love with her that day.

With the way she holds herself, steely and determined. Just like Elsie had.

“I can teach you,” he promises.


	2. the lesson starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott takes Tessa for her first skating lesson as the two get to know each other a little better.

Scott’s kids shuffle out of their class with snail-paced reluctance.

There’s a group of boys who are so caught up in one-upping each other, they don’t notice the time on the clock. There are the London girls who carpool together (with Stacey’s mom, or Jade’s mom, or Tara’s mom, or Lana’s dad), all clad in the latest pioneering sportswear but barely able to keep themselves upright during the drills; they linger for a shared note of approval, for that glimmer of Scott’s attention. There’s another kid, Sammy, who’s always ready with a laundry list of questions every time the session finishes, as though too scared to ask them as they occur to him; he saves them up, presenting them privately as Scott starts to wave everyone off the ice. There’s Joey, his nephew, who simply wants to receive his ritual high five.

And then there’s Elsie.

Elsie is first on, last off. Before the lesson starts, she’ll be running through last week’s steps. After it ends, she’ll be going over and over new lessons until Scott or Tessa call out for her.

She’s only little – a tiny seven (almost eight), but she already skates big.

Scott lets the other kids burn off the rest of their energy, patiently waiting until everyone’s left the ice, and then he watches her work. She glides around the ice like it’s freedom, moving out to every corner as though not wanting to leave a single inch of it untouched. She’s like a superhero who’s just learned to fly, wanting to utilize the full breadth of her newly acquired powers.

The rest of the kids fade away soon enough. Scott barely notices. He only notices that the background noise dissipates, allowing the sound of her blades to sharpen in his ears.

“E!” he calls over eventually, noticing Cara appear in his periphery.

Elsie looks up as though stirred from a dream. Obediently, she glides her way over to him, moving so fast it’s like she’s late for something. She halts abruptly in front of him, making a little flurry of ice fly up at his feet.

“You still happy to hang with Cara, kiddo?” he checks in, bending a little to lower himself to her height, his hand on her shoulder.

She nods and rushes over to the boards where Tessa’s waiting. There, Tessa asks the same question, kneeling in front of her daughter, eyes wide and searching. “You’re happy to go and do some colouring with Cara?” Scott hears her ask.

“Yes, did you bring my book? I didn’t finish Taylor,” Elsie says, very matter-of-fact. She quickly takes her skates off before her mother pulls a big, oversized hoodie over her head that hangs halfway down to her knees. Tessa then roots around in the little drawstring bag that has Elsie’s name across it to dig out Elsie’s ragged copy of ‘Colour Me Swiftly’.

“There you go, sweetie,” Tessa whispers, offering it out with her other hand rested on Elsie’s back.

“You’re gonna skate, mom?” Elsie asks then, noticing the adult-sized white skates that are propped up on one of the chairs nearby. Scott had laid them out carefully – some old pair they had lying around, one of his cousins’.

“Just a little,” Tessa replies softly.

“Okay.”

Soon, she’s gone. Cara leads her by the hand to the back office, just as she’d promised Scott she would. (He won’t tell Tessa that he’s signed his life away. He won’t mention the price: endless washing up, designated driving duties until his dying day and extra shifts to assist with the synchro skaters.)

The rink is quiet after the lesson. It’s about 45 minutes before everyone’s gone, but it’s oddly calming to see it so bare. It’s not in perfect condition; some of the boards look about ready to fall down, the ice is uneven from boisterous kids kicking it up, the flags that are hanging look almost threadbare. Despite it all, and despite the frozen floor above which it all rests, there’s something warming about this small town rink just bursting with big, big dreams. There’s a worn charm to it.

As Tessa laces up, Scott meanders around the ice looking up at the empty bleachers and the flickering fluorescent lights and the banners.

There’s a banner with his name on up there somewhere. He can’t even remember which one it is now. Somewhere between synchro accolades and his brother and cousin’s silver at Nationals, there’s a mention of Scott Moir, the Junior Worlds ice dance champion who no one ever heard from again.

“Scott?” he hears suddenly – a reluctant, quiet call.

When he turns around, Tessa’s on the very edge of the ice. She still has one foot on dry land and both hands are clinging to the boards. “Tessa? Are you okay there?”

"I've never really skated," she admits, each word broken up by nervous pauses as she steps fully onto the ice, one hand still holding on.

"But you're Canadian," he replies, bemused.

"Yeah," she laughs. "I just... did other stuff as a kid. Ballet and soccer and modern dance and field hockey." If it sounds like a boast, he can tell she doesn’t mean it as one.

"So everything except skating?"

"There was no time!"

"Okay,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender as he skates towards her. “Well, as someone who grew up with a rink practically in my backyard, you've gotta understand how crazy that sounds to me."

"Quit judging and start teaching," she retorts, a smile sparkling in her eyes.

The funny thing is, he anticipates it. He expects the gentle teasing, with that edge of bossiness, and the subtle crease at the corner of her eyes. It’s like he’s learned this part of her already. There’s the strangest feeling in his chest when he sees that smile. It’s like he loves her somehow, even if they’re barely more than strangers; it’s as though everything she does is just filling in the gaps, but the outline is already there – it has been since the moment she turned around, Elsie on her hip and curiosity in her eyes.

Scott moves to her, taking her free hand to pull her away from the boards. “Come on, trust me.”

And she does; he feels her relax to his touch after mere seconds. She’s uneasy still, her steps awkward as she tries to find an even glide to match his. He moves slowly, with her fingers interlocked with his own, cautious not to run before she can walk.

It doesn’t take too long before they find their stride.

He can’t resist pushing her – just a little. She’s up to the challenge, it turns out, but mostly he likes the way her cold hand squeezes his. He feels needed for just a moment. And, more than that, he feels trusted. There’s trust in the way his confidence in her transforms into a little belief in herself. He keeps talking encouragingly and he holds her hand with no intention of letting go; at a certain point, she starts to believe him.

There, in the eerie quiet of the empty rink, they begin to get to know each other.

“I think it’s nice that you’re doing this for her,” he says, interrupting a prolonged silence that settles between them once he’s outlined a few easy steps for her to practice. They’re going over and over them in a simple sequence, without words.

“She loves it so much. I didn’t want to miss out,” Tessa replies warmly, her eyes not looking up from where her skates are attempting to recreate Scott’s seemingly effortless demonstration. “You’re sweet to humour me.”

“I’m just using you, really.” He shrugs at her when she looks up, a raised eyebrow waiting for him. “Not much opportunity to talk to another adult who isn’t a member of my family.”

He notices her hide a smile then, intrigued by its significance.

(He wonders if she knows what his words mean. Whether she heard _single_. Or perhaps just _lonely_.)

 

*

 

“You’re not how I expected,” she confesses later.

“She didn’t warn you how handsome I was?”

Tessa gives him the laugh he’s going for, but he can see her eyes reading him. It’s plain on his face – even despite the smirk he paints on – that, beneath the teasing, he’s nervous. She tells him, “You’re loud and confident, and everything that usually makes her hide away in her shell.”

She stops moving to add, “But you listen to her.”

“She’s wise, that one. I think she’s got some things to say.”

“I do too,” Tessa says with a smile, lifting her head just to share it with him.

After a contented silence, he instructs her, “Come on. One more time, kiddo.”

“ _Kiddo_?” she spits back at him.

“Well, that’s what I call all my students,” he teases.

“You’re not calling me that,” Tessa warns him, shaking her head. But there’s a smile she can’t seem to shake off. He sees it there, certain and true. It’s his, he knows instantly. This secret smile she tries to keep, it belongs to him.

“Okay, kiddo.”

Tessa rolls her eyes.

“One more time, eh?”

Letting go of her hand, he moves out ahead to demonstrate the steps once more, pushing out on his left foot, then his right, and so on, in sure, smooth strokes. It’s simple. And she follows his lead, managing to look almost confident in the movement.

It isn’t one more time.

They carry on skating and laughing together, taking no notice of the time passing. She’s a model student, devotedly following his every command and swiftly able to transfer it into movement with seeming ease. There are stumbles, of course, but surprisingly few; when she does fall, he catches her. Despite the nerves she’d shown as she unsteadily stepped onto the ice while gripping the boards, quickly she shakes off that fear. She looks unafraid. Knowing he’s there compels her to believe. And that belief seems to hasten her improvement.

It’s only when Cara comes back with Elsie by her side that they realize, suddenly and soberingly, how long their lesson has lasted. Their spectators watch curiously as they skate free of each other, the difference in Tessa’s skills already evident enough that Elsie calls out, “Mom, you’re doing so good!”

“You gotta join us next time, E. You can help me show your mom how it’s done now she’s nailed some of the basics!” Scott replies, his hand patting Tessa on the back as he catches up with her en route back to the boards.

He goes to put a hand up for a high five but when she claps hers to it, their fingers curl around each other in a longer grasp. They turn back to Cara and Elsie still loosely holding hands before the contact falls away.

Scott ignores the probing look in Cara’s eye as he steps off the ice. He ignores the strange, unfamiliar flutter deep in his gut. He ignores the impulse to plead for just a little longer.

He can’t ignore Elsie, though.

Not when she slips a tiny hand in his, pulling his attention down to whisper, “Thanks for helping my mom, Coach!”


	3. making the rounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tessa and Scott start to grow more comfortable around one another.

“I got chatting to, uh… Stacey Kinney’s mom,” Tessa starts suddenly, as they’re gliding slowly around the ice together.

They’ve settled into a routine of post-practice practice now, once the kids have drifted away and Elsie’s settled with a book or homework or an art project. It’s quiet, cold evenings on the ice filled with long conversations about pineapple on pizza and things Scott doesn’t know his phone does and hypothesizing about other versions of their lives. The inane blends seamlessly with the existential as they transition from one topic to another with the same ease that Scott demonstrates when changing from one movement to the next.

In recent lessons, he’s started introducing dance steps. The kind he used to learn when he was Elsie’s age and holding a girl’s hand for the first time. Tessa seems not to have any particular ambitions for her skating besides improving enough to enjoy the activity with Elsie, so he takes advantage of her eagerness. It feels nice to have a willing partner again and she’s been impressively committed from the start. He shows her how to move in a dance hold, counting out their steps aloud so she can move with him in synchronicity.

When she speaks, her voice low, he can feel her warm breath hit the shell of his ear. It’s a temperature spike, contrasting with the cool air that’s turned his skin a saturated pink.

“Uh-oh,” he replies with a laugh. “No good can come of that.”

“She said you two dated,” Tessa probes.

“In high school,” he replies. It comes out so sharply, without a thought, that the halting snap of it almost gives him whiplash.

Coolly, she continues, “She also said you dated Lana’s mom.”

“When I was _nine_ ,” he argues, defensively. “I don’t think that counts, Tessa.”

“And Holly’s mom.”

There’s no quick retort for that one.

“You’re a popular guy,” Tessa says breezily, and he feels her give a little shrug in his arms.

He doesn’t know how to articulate a response to it. His grip tightens unintentionally and his body stiffens, but he manages to suppress the kneejerk defence that flashes through his mind. It’s not that she’s accused him of anything; it’s that he knows now that she’s left with a limited truth, a version of events that paints only one picture. And it isn’t a picture of her perfect guy. It isn’t the Scott he wants her to see.

Whatever she thinks of him, he sure as fuck can’t ask her out to dinner now she thinks that he’s making the rounds of her PTA group.

Besides, he still can’t figure out whether she’s actually single or not.

 

*

 

He asks her about it one day, not too long after. Not directly, but his curiosity gets the better of him – enough to prompt him to pry about the absence of a father figure in Elsie’s life. At least, one that he’s met thus far.

It’s been three months since Tessa first showed up. Even at the competitions Elsie starts to enter, it’s just Tessa and Kate. Sometimes Jordan too. Never anyone else.

“He’s not around right now,” is all she tells him.

Scott stares at Tessa a beat too long. He contemplates her words for a moment, struggling to imagine a man who could ever willingly leave her. He knows, instantly and keenly, he’s not that man.

“What?” Tessa draws back from him.

“I just can’t imagine anyone ever walking away from you.” It slips out before his brain can catch up with his mouth, before the filters overlay and he remembers the unspoken rules between them. She blushes furiously, her cheeks blooming deep red. He’s quick to add, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“No, I… It’s nice someone thinks that. Because I’m a catch, right?” she says, light and flippant. She’s so quick to shift the mood, he knows it’s a conscious choice, but it’s so smoothly executed, he simply smiles. “And my kid, she’s the best kid ever.”

“If I say yes, do you promise not to tell the other moms?”

“Why? Are you telling them the same thing?” she teases. Looking down at her watch, Tessa adds, “Is this your move? Am I gonna overrun into your next appointment? Have you got Bethany King’s mom booked in for 7:30?”

Scott lets her run with it, his eyebrows raised and a curious smile fixed to his expression as he watches her skate circles around him. Now, her skating appears noticeably more confident, commanding enough to weaponize the movement just to flirt with him.

“Do you just wanna hear it’s only you?” he asks, feeling bold, intrigued by her sudden avoidance of all eye contact.

“I guess I do.” It’s small and bashful, with none of the formality they’d started out with.

 _Of course it’s only you_ , he thinks to himself. And the goosebumps sweep up his arms.

It’s strange how these moments of honesty seem to creep up on them between edge drills and turns practices. They seem unable to entertain small talk without ending up landing on something big, instead fumbling their way towards weighty matters of life with genuine interest and concern.

Despite Tessa’s reluctance to open up about her own situation, she jumps at the chance to quiz Scott on his. “So, I never asked but… how’d you end up coaching here?”

Scott turns away in such an apparent move of avoidance, it earns a scoff of laughter.

“It’s a family thing,” he explains. It’s the same way he always explains it: dismissive and vague, just enough to get a person off his back. But then he remembers who he’s talking to, straightening up and turning back to look at her.

Part of him expects her to relent, to let him slither away from her question without clearing up a damn thing. She doesn’t. Instead, she doubles down: “Yeah, but… how’d _you_ end up coaching here?”

“I, uh… I skated myself as a kid, went to some competitions and… my amateur career kind of fizzled. But this is fun. And it’s about all I’m good at,” he admits, kicking up a little lump of ice at his feet as though it requires extreme focus.

Tessa seems to intuit his reluctance and moves over to him, squeezing his shoulders as she passes him by, before showing him the solo sequence he’d been teaching her.

“You got it, Tess!” he cheers, watching her finish the turn, her hands outstretched to steady herself. She looks so damn pleased with her success, he takes a mental picture: her tongue is poking against the inside of her cheek as she focuses, both eyebrows are raised high and she holds the position for a comically long time, as though worried he’ll miss it. (He wouldn’t dare.)

“Looks like you’re a pretty good coach, eh?” she says eventually, the words loaded with smugness. It’s like they’re fighting over the assessment of his character – her: for, him: against – and she’s winning.

Scott rolls his eyes.

“Tell me to stop asking questions if you like but, if you were good, why’d things end? Injury?”

“No, I just… My partner and I kind of parted ways, and that was that. I had quite a temper back then – still do if the Maple Leafs aren’t getting a fair rap from the ref,” he says, his tone suddenly transforming with a kind of lightness that’s so decidedly forced that it betrays itself. Aware of his own transparency, Scott defeatedly adds, “It just… wasn’t working anymore.”

Tessa’s head tilts to one side as she asks, “Do you miss it? Competing?”

“Sometimes.” There’s a wistful smile on his lips. “I’m hoping someday I’ll take one of these kids all the way to the top. I can live vicariously through them, eh?”

“Hey, not to be _that_ mom but… better make it my kid,” she teases. Her playful breeziness manages to bring the oxygen back into the room. His shoulders drop and his expression relaxes to a smile as the air fills his lungs. “I can’t have you taking Anna Kinney’s daughter to the Olympics, can I? She’d be insufferable!

“Although, maybe you guys are still close – because of your _history_ ,” Tessa adds, pulling a grimace that’s not even a little bit serious.

Scott’s hand flies out to lightly smack her in the arm. “Shut up!”

“Elsie wouldn’t want to come between you and true love!”

Scott’s laughing properly now, his eyes tightly shut as he throws his head forward. The glide of his skates is a random, unsteady path as he provides a willing audience to her teasing, even as the target of it. “No, no, keep going,” he says, sarcastic, his hand gesturing his faux encouragement.

“I’d hate to get in the way of anything,” she continues gamely, edging closer to something meaningful – something that might not be about Elsie at all, or about skating.

Tessa stops after that, the laughter dying away and leaving just a companionable silence.

Sensing her reluctance to speak up, he finds his voice first. “Your kid is the most extraordinary kid I’ve ever taught.” His voice softens, warmth and affection rounding its edges. “I’m not just saying that.”

There’s a silence that hangs again. They look at each other, with Tessa seeming to struggle for the right response. It doesn’t seem so difficult to Scott, but then she admits, “I don’t know if I want her to be extraordinary,” her eyes never moving from the spot between her skates. “Does that make me a bad mother?”

Scott hesitates.

“I know I joke with you but… I really want her to fit in. I want her to make friends. I worry that if she’s that much better than the rest, if she’s truly as good as you think she is, she’ll struggle.”

“We’ll take care of her,” he says easily, the words bursting out to reassure her without a second thought. Perhaps it’s the fear that Tessa would ever make her stop skating. Perhaps it’s the confidence with which he knows this is one thing he can get right. Perhaps it’s the possibility of them as a ‘we’.

Tessa thinks about it. She seems to momentarily size him up and down, and then gives a nod. Her face brightens, the frame of her body relaxing, as she warmly concedes, “I know we will.”


	4. their dance continues

Their dance continues for a long time.

They remain in hold, never closing the gap but always on the cusp of another step.

It continues through months and months of practices. Of teasing and flirting and getting to know what makes the other one tick. He learns she’s an assistant buyer for a department store. It’s Tessa’s job to choose the latest lines that will populate the shop floor, dress the mannequins, fill the window display. She explains this to him once (prompting him to say, “You’ll have to give me some style tips!”) before insisting against work talk outside of the office, so, occasionally, he forgets what her job is. Every time it comes back to him, though, he thinks about how perfect the job is for her, how good she must be at it.

It continues even as Elsie begins to find her rhythm – and not just that but edge quality, control, power and speed. Surpassing her peers through the levels of the CanSkate program, she exceeds expectation every time there’s an evaluation. Every idea Scott decides to throw at her, she brings to life with entertaining humility and proficiency; sometimes he calls out half-baked concepts just to see what she can create, just to watch her move confidently and commandingly across the ice like it’s been frozen just for her. All of her natural reserve is hidden behind her performance. She thrives out there, outshining everyone else as they fight for Scott’s attention (a losing battle), before she gets some quiet time to skate out loose ideas in the background of her mother’s lessons. She quickly grows confident enough that it feels safe for them to let Elsie utilize the extra ice time as they go through their motions.

It continues after Elsie decides she doesn’t want to jump. She can do it – she’s the only student he’s ever seen land an axel in a single lesson – but it’s not satisfying to her. So, Scott tells her it’s okay; he tells her she can skate without jumping. He’ll find her a partner and see how that goes. He watches the way she weighs it up for a long beat before nodding an affirmative. “Okay, but… a nice partner, Coach. I don’t like some of those boys.”

It continues as Scott realizes he’s found his own partner, a fit so natural it makes him wonder if there’s another lifetime where he really could’ve achieved all of those long-forgotten dreams he’d harboured once upon a time. His friendship with Tessa sets so firmly and quickly, the feeling that they’ve known each other before never shakes. Despite the gulf that separates their personalities, some part of them seems to line up so precisely, it feels like their hearts are beating in time.

She comes to rely on him.

They talk to each other like co-parents. When she has to think about choosing a middle school for Elsie, it’s Scott she talks to. _Where do the good kids go? Studious, sensitive. Where will she thrive?_

He becomes her sounding board for everything, every decision. Especially the ones that revolve around her daughter. That’s how he knows she trusts him. He starts to wonder about the fact that she never seems to ask anyone else – just him, only him.

On days when she has to go to Toronto for work conferences or supplier meetings, he’s her first port of call after Kate. _Can you drop her back in London? Are you able to get her some dinner? Running late, please keep her entertained for an extra 20 minutes! I’ll owe you a drink, a dinner, a dance._ He’s still waiting to cash those cheques.  

Tessa asks him who the nice kids are, whether Elsie should be going to Suzi Clay’s sleepover, what kind of gift she’s expected to bring along to the kids’ birthday parties.

He knows them all through skating. He knows how to identify the well-meaning but disruptive kids from the bratty, spoiled ones. He can see the ones that applaud Elsie’s development, watching in awe as she executes impressive camel spins with uncommon grace, from those too envious of her talent to admire it. He sits at the centre of their little skating world, watching and protecting and encouraging the young skaters that surround him, learning their personalities with each minute they spend in his lessons.

That’s how he knows Elsie. He knows that she learns best through positive reinforcement. He knows that she gives herself a hard time when she struggles through a bad practice. He knows that, despite her aptitude, she’d rather hover in the shadows than occupy centre stage.

Another part of Elsie that he knows – and Tessa knows too, but they never talk about it – is that she finds it hard to socialize with the group. Tessa’s worry about her daughter fitting in lingers in the front of his mind. He finds himself working harder to help improve her social skills than her skating.

Eventually, just as her mother had wanted, he helps Elsie find her place.

 

*

 

It starts with Fern. After moving from Hamilton, the smiley, young redhead turns up at the rink one day, an eager new face. Fern looks around the group for a welcome, but the cliques have already formed – only Elsie smiles for her. But, at eight years old, that’s enough. That’s the foundation for a deep and lasting friendship, bonded by their shared exclusion from every other group.

Fern’s a little silly, but she’s game for anything, utterly fearless and instantly the perfect influence on Elsie. Scott finds her odd and entertaining in equal measure, and, truthfully, he’s just relieved that Elsie’s found a buddy, someone to stay at her side during their warm-ups and whisper in her ear when he’s just told everyone to be quiet.

Then there’s Joey, Scott’s loud, outgoing nephew. As far as talent goes, he’s somewhere in the middle of the pack, with all of the natural aptitude one might expect of a Moir but with none of the focus required to get him anywhere. He’s unintimidated by Elsie’s talent, though, which makes him an exception and one up on everyone else. And as one of the Moirs, he’s used to standing out from the crowd, too.

When Scott asks him to pair up with Elsie for a dance test – because he's kind and the only boy who's anywhere close to good enough – it comes with the caveat that he take care of her. Scott trusts the kid, of course, but he also reasons that his favouritism will be less notable to the outside perspective if half the team is a Moir.

He makes them stand next to each other, sizing up their heights, before watching them glide hand in hand. It's a done deal before he can call them back over.

After their little audition, as Elsie goes to Tessa to tell her the news, there’s a look in Scott’s eye that’s not to be messed with as he says, “She’s good, Joe, and I know you’ll be a good partner, eh?”

“I’m gonna try really hard, Uncle Scott!” the kid replies, desperately eager to please.

Scott decides it doesn’t matter how well the actual test goes as long as they look out for one another. In the end, Joey momentarily forgets his steps but Elsie manages to cover for him. Afterwards, Scott finds them together as Elsie’s reassuring her new partner, “I thought you were really good for the rest of it. We all forget sometimes! We can get it right next time.”

It cements the beginning of something.

Though he’s a little older, Joey is quick to grow competitive with her, setting his sights higher with every new movement that Elsie masters.

After they’re paired up, Scott watches his nephew improve exponentially within weeks. Elsie shines, as always, completing every movement with a poise beyond her years – it’s the point of her toe, the extension of her arms, the arch of her back, the way she’s able to move her torso to create shapes. Joey, on the other hand, though always solid on the ice suddenly proves himself to be a dancer, finding rhythms that mobilize him from head to toe. He also begins to skate faster, his edges deeper, than ever before.

“Joe, you’re on a roll, bud!” Scott says at the end of a particularly impressive practice, putting an arm around his nephew as they glide back to the boards.

“Thanks!”

“You’re improving fast at the moment! And you’re more focused than I’ve ever seen you,” Scott carries on.

“Well,” Joey shrugs, “I don’t want to let Els down. She’s been working hard all year and I want to get it right for her.” He says it casually, oblivious to the sweetness of his own sentiment.

Scott looks over Joey’s innocent expression, wondering where the maturity of his sentiment can have come from. This is hyperactive, impatient Joey Moir, after all. It renders him momentarily speechless – a mix of surprise and guilt (that he can be so surprised by it) getting in the way of his words.

He doesn’t get a chance to utter a response before Fern comes rushing over, calling out, “Coach! Did you see my spins today?”

“Nailed it, kid!” he replies, quick to transition back into coach mode.

Once they’ve received their respective validation, the two kids head back over to where Elsie’s stroking across the ice alone.

They end up a trio: quiet Elsie, the loud Moir boy and wacky Fern.

While Fern sings constantly and Joey can barely stay still, their boundless energy provides something of a cocoon for Elsie. They buzz with activity around her, involving her in their fun chaos without expecting her to share their excitement and extroversion. She can hide away in their little group, balanced out by the constant chatter of the other two, while knowing that they’ll always listen if she does speak up. Occasionally, there are moments of mischief or disruption and Elsie finds herself in the middle of it by virtue of her connection to the other two; Scott takes a cruel delight in lightly scolding the kids.

He enjoys telling Tessa at the end of the lesson, while Elsie’s worried little eyebrows arch up at the thought that her mom might find out she got into trouble. There are no reprimands, only private chats between the adults as Scott says, “She was playing around while I was taking the warm-up!” and Tessa smiles, a little disbelieving, as he nods as if to say, _she really was, she was having fun, I promise._

He takes the opportunity to talk to her about Joey, to show her how hard the kid’s working just to keep up with Elsie. He speaks with pride as he tells Tessa, “He’s desperate not to let Elsie down.”

Her expression brightens. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“She’s got her friends now. And a partner.”

“Yeah, but that’s all Elsie,” he insists, blushing just a little at the praise.

“You should give yourself a little credit.”

Scott turns to look over at his favourite student as she chats animatedly to her friends, before he says, “I think she’s doing okay on her own, T.”

 _T_. It’s a first. It slips out loosely by accident, rolling off his tongue.

Her nose scrunches a little at the sound of it, her smile widening at the nickname. The way her cheeks bloom a fuchsia pink and her gaze drifts from his stirs those same familiar goosebumps he’s come to know well and that nauseating flutter in his stomach.

“I wish I had come here when I was her age. Maybe I’d have found you. We would’ve been friends,” she says softly, almost daydreaming as the words come out. The delicacy of her admission takes him by surprise.

It feels like hope, like maybe he’s getting somewhere, like maybe she feels some version of the same way.

He hasn’t so much as looked at anyone else in the months he’s been coaching Tessa; it hasn’t been a choice, it hasn’t been a sacrifice, but it’s the truth. After her conversations with the other moms, he hopes it hasn’t gone unnoticed. More than anything, he hopes she’s blushing for all the same reasons that he can feel his breath catching in his throat.

“We would’ve been partners, Tess,” he tells her once he’s figured out quite what to say in response. It’s said like a promise, the intensity of it unintentional but undeniable. Feeling the weight of his words as soon as they’re spoken, catching the way she draws in a breath, he rushes to brush it off. “There’s no way I let that much natural talent get away. I was a competitive kid! We would’ve been good together too. Just trying to impress you would’ve made me twice as good.”

The corner of her mouth lifts to a smile. “Partners, huh?”

They’re still speaking low, keeping the volume below the hubbub of the rink around them, their eyes occasionally drifting in the direction of the kids as they take advantage of every extra second on the ice.

“Yeah… but I was reckless,” he admits, his forehead forming a sharp set of worry lines. His voice drops even quieter before he continues: “I would’ve messed it up or let you down. So, even though it feels like… in a weird way, I was missing you before we even met, I think it’s good that we only found each other now we’re adults.”

She avoids his eyes for a second and it prompts him to instantly panic that he’s said too much.

Tessa’s gaze wanders, eyes wide and bright and taking in the whole scene that surrounds them. His head drops, a little despondently, before he hears, her voice a little tight: “I probably would’ve had a big crush on you back then. You’d have been nothing but trouble.”

The teasing smirk on her face as she says it hits him like lightning.

 

*

 

He doesn't find out there's no significant other until there is. It takes two years – not that Scott’s kept count – but one day, his star student turns up to the skating club holding the hand of a man Scott's never seen before.

"Dad, this is Coach," is all she says to introduce them.

She always calls him Coach. Every time she says it, it’s so permeated with warm affection that he finds it utterly disarming. He loves being _Coach_. Except now, as this strange man in his tailored suit stands there with Elsie beaming up at him, it feels like a cruel reminder that that’s all he is in her world. He’s Coach. Nothing more than her coach.

She asks Scott quietly if they can focus on practicing scratch spins – her favourite solo move, just to impress her dad. It’s not how it works normally; he never takes requests. He wants to ask, _what about Joey?_ But it’s not really about Joey. He has enough self-awareness to know that, so he gives in. He lets her have her moment.

When he checks his phone later, there’s a text from Tessa. It simply says, “Sorry, I can’t make it to our lesson tonight. Work’s been crazy.”

And then the next week, Tessa is back – alone, watching Elsie from the sidelines, her eyes fixed to the little determined face stubbornly refusing to put a foot wrong.

When they greet each other, they are quieter than normal. The hellos are tight-lipped smiles rather than warm words.

She tells him they can’t stay for the extra lesson. She has to get home.


	5. dating again

As easily as the closeness between them had come, flowering like a daisy in a midsummer bloom, a cool, threatening distance begins to grow. For all the things they’d shared, there were all the things they couldn’t. Not yet, anyway.

The sense of Tessa withholding from him had been present from the moment of their introduction – a singular thread pulling him back, preventing him from kissing her all along – but now it begins to overshadow their connection. She begins to not just withhold, but withdraw. She offers no explanation for the change and he knows better than to push her on it. That’s all he knows anymore. 

“You keep looking at me with these… questions in your eyes,” she says one day as they’re skating together, the unspoken lingering heavily, making even the cold air of the rink feel close, “but I’m grateful that you haven’t asked. It’s more complicated than I could…” 

“If you ever need to talk,” he offers, intending it to sound soft and relaxed, but overthinking it too much to quite execute the delivery. He looks down, sensing a surge of desperation rising up and threatening to permeate his expression. 

“I know.” 

“Okay. As long as you do.” 

“Can we just… skate?”

That’s when he realizes that skating with Tessa had never been  _ just  _ anything for him. Her innocent request makes him feel used and excluded, a harsh reminder that he’s there for a task. It’s only ever been about Elsie. Skating. For Elsie. 

He felt like he’d been chipping away at that wall she’d put up only to find another one behind it. Her withdrawal, growing like a vine and threatening to cover every brick, makes him torture himself with what ifs. His mind spins out into a highlight reel of almosts and opportunities. If he’d just leaned in then, if he’d just said what he felt then, if he had just offered her dinner then. If, if, if. 

All he knows is: he hadn’t, and here they were, the moment gone. 

There’s something to be said for timing. 

Still, he takes her hand in his and settles into a dance hold. She’s the same distance as always and yet it stretches so far, he can barely see her anymore. They skate an easy waltz, just as they had started with; they’re right back at the beginning. This time, though, he feels as though he knows the ending; the story’s already spoiled. 

He usually whispers instructions and encouragement into her ear. Instead, he stays silent. 

Scott breathes in the familiar scent of her, the strawberry of her shampoo mixing with the flora of her perfume. Not knowing how long they have left of this makes him savour every detail of her, compartmentalizing it so that the painstaking picture he draws in his mind remains untainted by bitterness. She never made any promises, after all. She never meant to hurt him. Maybe she still doesn’t realize that she has, so far locked away in the lonely tower she’d built for herself. 

 

*

 

Scott starts dating again soon after Elsie’s ninth birthday comes and goes. 

The two things aren’t directly related. But he learns quickly that Elsie’s dad had gone to the party, while his own invite must’ve got lost in the post. Something like that, anyway. Something that makes him feel small and meaningless. Something that reminds him he’ll always love more than he is loved, he’ll always invest more than he is invested in. With each run-on sentence that spills out of Joey’s mouth, recounting every silly activity and a full inventory of the party favours, he’s reminded more and more that he’s not privy to all of it now. Where he would’ve been the first person Tessa had asked to come up with these ideas once upon a time (a time so recent and fresh, it stings acutely), he’s now relegated to this. This  _ nothing _ . And it blindsides him. 

That’s why he starts looking. All it takes is for him to lift his head up and look around, really. 

He meets Casey, and she's nice and cool and outgoing. She plays ice hockey in her spare time. She keeps up when his brothers bring out the beer. She's everything on paper. And the moment he sees her sitting in his parents' home, he knows it's not quite right. The moment she falls effortlessly into his life, right at the heart of it, he sees it isn't where she belongs.

He lets it play out anyway.

He puts that feeling down to fear of commitment. He chooses not to be  _ that _ guy.

He never asks Tessa about the man in the three-piece suit who’d been to the rink that one day. Once, only once. But Elsie had beamed brightly, determined to hold his attention all lesson. Things had shifted so profoundly ever since, like the tectonic plates of his life pushing together on a wave of tension and leaving every piece of his life shaken, testing the patient, warm-hearted coaching that made him so beloved at the rink. That made his mother watch, beaming, from the boards, long after her own students had left the ice.  

He wants to feel proud as he hears Elsie talking more and more, coming out of her shell all the time. She talks about her school, about skating videos she’s watched on her mom’s phone and the tricks she wants to learn, about the way she showed Pierre how to do an axel. But then she mentions her dad within his earshot, brimming with daughterly pride as she shares promises of a new puppy, and he finds himself stuttering through some soon-forgotten speech for the other kids. Eventually, he barks at her: “Quiet. You need to listen.” 

He hates himself as soon as the command leaves his lips.

She looks back at him, a deer in the headlights. Fern, beside her, pulls a disgruntled face and folds her arms; she creates a forcefield around her friend. It's just as he’s seen before, but it had never been to block  _ him _ out. Warmth flooding back into his voice with urgency, he adds, “Sorry, E, I know you’ve heard it all already.” 

But the damage is done. He sees the way she shrinks into herself, refusing to utter a sound in response. 

 

*

 

It’s Cara who gives him the unsolicited clarification he’s been yearning – late, far too late, to do him any good. She’s talking, half to herself, as she sorts through paperwork in the office: competition entries, license forms, memberships. He’s writing up notes for his next lesson with Joey and Elsie on the other side of the room, jotting his thoughts down while they’re still fresh in his mind, trying to unearth great creative innovations to aid their development in a feeble attempt to make amends. 

“I was talking to Kate Virtue earlier,” she says, catching his attention. Scott acts nonplussed, not looking up, as Cara continues. “She was talking about how much more confident Elsie’s getting with her skating, praising you non-stop. I think you’ve got some fans there.”

“I was shitty to her earlier,” he mumbles. “E.”

“Anyway,” Cara rallies, not seeming to take any notice of the thundercloud hanging over him, “I asked where Tessa was because I’d got used to her hanging around for a lesson, and she was telling me about her job. You know, Tessa got promoted recently and I think it’s really made her a lot busier than she expected. Sounds like things have been crazy.” 

Scott thinks bitterly that she could have told him as much.

“I think she’d been counting on, uh, the ex-husband to help out a little more but… it’s not–it doesn’t sound like it’s going to plan, exactly,” Cara explains, her voice lowering as her words become more pointed, her eyes meeting his when he eventually looks up. 

“Ex-husband?” 

“Yeah, that guy… I think he came by a couple of times.” 

Scott’s quick to snap: “Once.” 

“Well...” 

“What?”

“Scott, I think she’s going through a lot.” At last, she offers something plain and direct, not hidden under the guise of some other message. “They’re not–” 

“What?”

“Scott. Don’t be obtuse.” 

“It’s none of my business what’s going on with her,” he replies dismissively.

“So you’re just gonna pretend like you don’t care.” 

His mouth tightens, any argument to that far too unbelievable to be worth making.

“You don’t think I’ve known you long enough to notice, eh?” she adds, a gentle care taken over every word of her question, as though cautious not to set him alight again. The softness of her tone earns her a little more consideration. “It’s okay. But I think you’re just one more complication she can’t handle. I don’t think it’s–” 

“Cara.” Grinding his jaw, he fixes her with a hard gaze. There’s warning in it.  _ Don’t _ . And, acting as if it hasn’t just rushed back into his own mind, the pretence being that he’d been conscious of it all along, he reminds her, “I’m dating Casey.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

“And that’s not complicated at all.” He means it as he says it, but as soon as Cara’s eyebrow twitches, he looks away.

“Oh, no?”

“No,” he replies, a hint of petulance about it. 

“Okay.”  

At that, he closes the notebook in his hand and throws it in his bag. 

“Scott?” Cara calls after him as he wanders out of the office. 

“It’s fine,” he insists, but doesn’t look back. 

With Cara’s words fresh and alive in his mind, sending trains of thought down every track, he heads home to find his girlfriend in his kitchen. When he walks through the door, she’s got her back to him. Her eyes are fixed on the Leafs game that’s playing on the little TV in the kitchen as she absent-mindedly stirs a pan one-handed. Turning around at the sound of his footsteps, she lights up instantly at the sight of him there and he can’t help but reflect her smile with his own. 

“Hey babe,” she says, dropping the spatula to wrap herself around his waist. “Thought I’d surprise you with chilli tonight. Good day?”

“Mm, I don’t know,” he says, half-heartedly kissing her temple. “I’ve been kinda snappy.” 

Her hand rubs his stomach affectionately. “I bet you’re just hungry.” 

Scott gives a little grunt of acknowledgement before kissing her temple and drawing away to take off his coat.  _ If only _ . Still, he sits and eats homemade chilli gratefully, trying not think of all the things his cousin might’ve meant when she’d called him ‘just one more complication’. For so long, he’s been vacillating between a self-hating belief that he’d read it all wrong and the uneasy understanding that maybe she’d just led him on. 

It’s a recalibration. An adjustment. 

 

*

 

He wakes up the next day determined to get over it all. It’s not his fault and it’s not her fault, but it didn’t work out. And now they’re in different places entirely, moving ever further in opposite directions. Acceptance feels like the first step towards progress. He’s spent so long – over a year now – caught up in all of their beautiful possibilities, never really allowing for the fact that maybe, just maybe, they never really were possible at all. 

The day passes easier, and even the prospect of seeing her or not seeing her doesn’t consume his attention in quite the way it has been. He decides he’s okay either way. Because he’ll see her and smile, and he’ll know that it was never his mistake. He – just the very idea of him – was just one complication too many, a ball in the air that she wasn’t ready to catch. Instead, she’ll go home with Elsie and he’ll go home to Casey, and that’ll be that. 

Except, he doesn’t get to go home at all in the end. 

Scott’s watching Elsie and Joey run through new choreography that he’s developed for them, careful to examine their synchronicity. His eyes are trained on the two of them; he’s watching for the timing of their turns and the way they anticipate each other’s movements. He’s entirely caught up in their dance until, all of a sudden, one of the other skating teams comes gliding into his periphery on a collision course for the two of them. 

“Pauuuuul!” he bellows at the boy from the other, slightly older skating team. 

Facing into it, Joey manages to divert their path a little to soften the blow but it's fast and Elsie escapes her partner’s grasp as the impact hits. She's on the ground before Scott can so much as blink, and there's blood on the ice. All he can see is red, dampening the sleeves of her dusty pink top and staining the white of their frozen floor. 

He rushes over, careful to slow the speed of his skates in good time before reaching her. Elsie’s eyes are blinking open to the sight of Scott and Joey hovering above, and Scott feels his chest tighten; she looks so small and fragile, her face screwed up in dazed confusion. The colour’s been knocked out of her so that she’s little more than an outline against the ice, her hand noticeably crooked as it lays lifeless at her side. 

Scott can hear the noise of help being called in the background, and distant panicked voices, but he can't make sense of any of it. All he sees is her.

Joey’s voice sounds small beside him. "Elsie?"

"Don't try to get up, E," Scott says, as firm and calm as he can manage as he kneels at her side. "You're okay. We’re gonna get help."

"Hurts," is all she can croak out.


	6. collision

In the aftermath of the collision, there are people everywhere. Scott can sense the frenzy of bodies around him: the horrified cries of the other team, other young skaters unable to suppress their morbid curiosity, Joey somehow finding enough presence of mind to offer calm distraction to his half-conscious partner, Scott’s mother assessing the injuries.

It feels like an eternity before the ambulance arrives and she’s taken away, frightened but stoic. Without Tessa there, he finds himself rushing to her side and settling next to the paramedic – and then he reaches for Elsie’s hand before realizing he can’t take it. He doesn’t have to be a medical professional to know, at a glance, that he can’t take it. Instead, he tilts his head to one side and smiles at her. It’s one of those false smiles that adults give to children sometimes to uphold the illusion of composure, _but_ _perhaps_ _she’s already too old not to see through it_.

Elsie summons something like a smile too, despite red-rimmed eyes that give away her pain; she’s performing still, always wanting to impress him. It’s as though she’s seen the worry etched into his expression and, there she is, quick to reassure him.

“Coach… want Mom,” she ekes out as they feel the motion of the ambulance pulling away, the fraying edges of her voice betraying the emotion she’s so far managed to withhold.

“Carol’s called her, E. She’s coming, I promise. Don’t worry you about a thing. Everyone’s gonna take good care of you, okay? So you just relax and think up ideas for next year’s programs, eh? I got you, kid,” Scott assures her, his voice like sandpaper as the words strain in his throat. He remembers how Joey had been, marvelling at the way the kid had beamed so innocently as he’d joked, “It’s not like you to finish practice early, Els.” Scott attempts to embody the miraculous lightness that his nephew had offered, urgently mustering every ounce of calm and warmth in his body.

“Can we do Taylor next season, Coach?” she asks, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes.

It takes him by surprise, earning a true laugh this time. “Are you trying to take advantage of the situation here, E? Because you know I’ll agree to just about anything right now.”

“Absolutely,” Elsie replies, even turning her head and looking at him with a real smile.

“Alright, kiddo. An exhibition program, okay?” He can’t help but chuckle to himself at the way she celebrates the victory with a little nod of the head, her eyes squeezing shut – either in pain or in excitement, but he prays for only the latter. “Which song do you want to skate to?”

She considers this thoroughly for a moment before definitively replying, “‘Long Live’.”

“I don’t think I know that one,” he admits, pulling a face to convey his faux shame. “How does it go then?”

“I’m not gonna sing,” she giggles, and it feels like a miracle.

“No? Then how am I gonna know what to choreograph,” he teases.

Elsie laughs again. It might be the sweetest sound in the world, if it weren’t for the way the end of every breath catches in an unsteady whimper of pain. And then he hears a fragile, lilting lullaby: “ _Long live the walls we crashed through, all the kingdom lights shined just for me and you. I was screaming, ‘long live all the magic we made’ and bring on all the pretenders. I’m not afraid._ ”

There are tears sitting in his eyes, and then he shakes his head and says, “No, you don’t seem very into it, E. What about, hmm, a little S Club 7 number?”

“Coach!” she whines, so gloriously distracted, he raises his eyebrows just watching her. Louder than before, she sings more insistently, “ _Hold on to spinning around, confetti falls to the ground. May these memories break our fall…_ ”

 

*

 

Scott dreads seeing Tessa. He imagines all the different ways she might choose to react, a devastating spectrum from quiet tears to blind rage.

None of his expectations come to pass.

She arrives not long after him, having rushed straight to the hospital after receiving the call. He’s perched on the very edge of a chair in the hallway when she finds him, slumped and defeated and barely held up by the cold metal frame of it. He looks up at the sound of her unmistakable footsteps, set in double time, to notice her face drained of colour just as Elsie’s had been. There’s no hint of anger, but the smudges of black around her eyes betray the faint trace of tears.

Scott stands to meet her, but instead of the storm of emotion he’s been bracing for, she calmly wraps him in an urgent hug. It's warm, and long enough that their breathing syncs. It might be the first even breaths he's taken since the moment Elsie's small form had crashed against the ice.

"I'm sorry, Tess," he whispers, his voice tight and hoarse, the movement of his chin brushing against her shoulder as he speaks. "I should've..."

"Scott," she says, simply. It's a question and an answer. It's the end of things.

He squeezes her a little tighter, requiting the support she'd offered him by quickly deflecting to comforting her. The transition feels natural and instinctive, and there's soothing relief in being able to offer something. And, fuck, if this isn’t a relief to him too; there’s more warmth contained in her embrace than he’s ever felt before, despite their cooling off period and the tension that’s hung heavy over them lately. They wrap around each other tightly. It feels like more than old friends, so many possibilities alive again in the intimacy of the hug. If he could only hold onto it.

“I gotta go to Elsie,” she says all too soon, and he draws back instantly – because of course. “Are you–”

He gives a head shake before a nod, a confusing combination that then requires clarification: “I’ll be here, T.”

And then she disappears through the same door that Elsie had when they’d arrived. It’s only a door – as quick to open as it had been to close, and yet the distance stretches out as soon as she goes out of sight. _Be brave, Elsie_ , he pleads, eyes looking up to the ceiling. _Be brave and brilliant and okay_.

 

*

 

Time moves achingly slowly, like a ferocious headwind is pushing the hands of the clock to turn the other way. He sits there, one leg bobbing frantically, until he can’t sit any longer, until he’s pacing up and down the hallway, reacting every time someone enters or exits through that damn door.

It feels like forever before he sees Tessa again.

He’s mid-pace when she comes back out, trailing Elsie’s bed as they move her off towards the elevators. He lets them go, allowing Tessa every last second with her daughter before his star student is gone, out of sight, and it’s only the two of them left there: Tessa and Scott. The two of them and strangers around them, coming and going, too caught up in their own worst day to pay any attention to theirs.

Scott stills only a pace in front of her when she comes back to him. There’s no need for questions; the question is asked inside a glance, barely lingering at all before she explains, “She’s gonna need surgery. It’s–she’s… It’s a bad break. They’re taking her into the operating room.”

She holds his gaze despite the tears filling her eyes, before stepping forward and letting him envelop her in the safety of his arms. He feels the energy drain out of her as she falls against him, unable, momentarily, to hold herself up. It’s a different embrace than before. This time, he’s the one supporting her. It makes him feel useful for a moment. It reminds him of when he used to hold her close, the familiarity of their dance hold coming back in a comforting wave. Because it always felt so right to have her there, one hand in hers and one against her back.

“My baby girl,” she sobs softly, the words muffled by the shoulder of his jacket.

Scott’s hand moves flatly up and down her back in comforting strokes. “She’s a badass, T. It’s Elsie. You needn’t worry about that one. She’s braver than anyone else I know.”

“‘Though she be but little, she is fierce,’” Tessa says then, drawing in a long sniff on her way to composure. She moves back from him, giving an affirmative nod as she finishes the quote.

“Yeah, that.”

She laughs – really laughs, and he blushes. Scott’s a little embarrassed, but really, the sound of her laugh pinkens his cheeks regardless. It’s always a surprise how loud and clear it is, bursting out in a joyous eruption without build-up. Just like Elsie’s. It betrays a silliness behind all that composure that he yearns to know better.

“She was laughing in the ambulance, you know,” he tells her, an undercurrent of pride running through it as they settle in two of the hallway chairs he’s come to know well.

“Oh yeah? She told me you had her singing,” Tessa replies, her eyebrows raised as she shakes her head at him. “I can’t believe you got her to sing! What kind of meds were they giving her in that ambulance?”

“I was panicking so I thought… I don’t know. I didn’t want her to close her eyes,” he admits quietly. “She was comforting me. I’ve never had to take one of my students to hospital before and I hope never to relive the experience.”

“Sounds like you handled it just fine,” she says, the reassurance buried behind her matter-of-fact tone. Scott can’t help but wince. “She’s only worried about skating.”

"There are things more important than skating," he scoffs, another sigh of relief escaping him as he imagines his favourite student immediately getting back to business. She’d skate around with an IV still attached to her if they let her; he’s got no doubt about it.

"Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Not _a lot_ of things, but some," he clarifies.

"Yeah," Tessa says quietly, almost wistful. Something about the silent anticipation of what comes next tells him it’ll land heavy, like maybe whatever she’s about to say will change his life. “She skates for you, you know?” she adds, and as soon as he hears it, he knows then that he’ll never forget it. (It’ll be those words, loaded with responsibility, that will run through his mind a thousand times – through wins and losses and heartbreaks and celebrations.)

“What?”

“She told me once. She was sick and sleepy at the time, mumbling about having to get well enough for some regional competition.” Tessa heaves out a sigh. “She thinks if she stops skating, she’ll… lose you.”

“She’ll—?”

“She’s got a useless father, no grandfather. She thinks men don’t stick around.”

“You think the same, don’t you?” The thought occurs to him for the first time as he speaks it aloud. But the theory comes to him fully formed.

“What?”

“That I’m gonna go somewhere.” And there it is. It hangs there between them, changing the air in the room. She’d looked at him as he’d replied, anticipating an answer, but now it leaves her stuck – with their long gaze held in limbo.

Scott doesn’t breathe again until her eyes drop away and a smile breaks out across her face. “I think you’re going somewhere. You’re taking my kid places. You’re gonna make her the best figure skater London, Ontario’s ever seen.”

He’s distracted from his own statement by her expertly-timed ego stroke. He lets her obfuscate. “You believe that?”

“Well, you better. Or you’ll have me to answer to.”

“I won’t let you down, Tess. I won’t let _her_ down. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She gives an accepting hum.

His eyebrow twitches up. “What?”

“Well, that’s all well and good while you’ve got nowhere else to be.”

Scott can’t help but let his exasperation out in a laugh. “You’re a hard nut to crack. Anybody ever tell you that?”

“Maybe.”

They’re smiling at each other coyly, the circumstances forgotten for just a moment. The sharp squeak of footsteps on the lino floor, the chemical smell of disinfectant, the heavy tiredness of cried-out eyes go forgotten; it all drifts into the background, senses honed only on the brightness of their familiar flirtation. It’s all they have to keep them going, to keep from the unbearable ache of waiting for Elsie to come back.

Here, side by side in the hospital hallway, something heals. Not Elsie, not yet. But something.

Their smiles linger on the relief of that small mercy, their bubble shiny and whole for a long, indulgent moment before it’s burst. When it is, the blow comes abruptly. It comes before he even registers the approach. There’s the sudden startle in Tessa’s expression and then–

“What the fuck happened to my kid?” an unfamiliar voice bellows out with a fury, just as Scott feels one side of his face slam against the unyielding hardness of the wall behind him.


	7. another partner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One quick thing! Whenever Casey comes up, it refers to Scott's girlfriend in this fic and not Tessa's brother. I definitely forgot about there being another Casey when I chose the name. Oop.

In the blurry half-conscious slow-motion as his head is thrown hard against the wall, Scott swiftly tries to make sense of the situation. It’s fast and slow at once, the abrupt violence of it leaving him too shocked to react immediately, and he finds his thoughts drifting back to Elsie.  _ Is this how she’d felt as she realized the other team was headed straight for her?  _ Out of focus, dizzy, dreamlike – and then comes that sudden slam of contact.  __

His face hits hard at the apple of his cheek and he feels the bruise of it blooming instantly. There are hands on his head, pressing him there and gripping without mercy. 

Tessa gasps, sounding about as winded as he feels, and he hears her call out the other man's name. That’s what brings him back to himself. Scott finds her eyes; she’s holding his gaze as she speaks, but her pleas aren’t meant for him. “It was an accident, Alex. Get off of him,” he hears, but it’s a little foggy with one ear pressed up against the cold, rigid surface of the hospital wall. “Stop!” 

Seeing the horror on her face, Scott pushes back against the force of the other man and wrestles his way out of his grip to a few paces away. As the space opens up, Tessa strides between them, evenly setting herself in the middle. Scott notices her give a little shake of her head to one of the nurses who’s started approaching, before turning her focus back to the man in front of her: Elsie’s dad, the man who’d shown up only once, wearing a tailored suit not so different from the one he’s in now, except he’s minus the jacket. Perhaps he knew he was coming in for a fight. Perhaps he didn’t want to risk tearing a seam.

This man, a relative stranger, lingers on Tessa’s expression, her fixed, forceful stare unmoving until Scott notices the fight go out of him. His shoulders drop before he continues, “What’s this guy even doing here, Tessa?” His focus switches quickly back to Scott. “I could fucking sue you.” 

Scott finds himself stepping to the side of her as if to remove her from the interaction, an attempt to centre it back on himself. If this guy wants to fight, he’s going to be ready next time. 

“Alex, stop. Can you, for one minute, focus on Elsie and how she’s doing?” Tessa snaps, a little harder than Scott’s expecting; it’s the first time he’s seen her really lose her composure. Even though her words aren’t directed at Scott, he finds his own temper cooling at the reminder of Elsie, the reminder that none of this will do one bit of good for the kid stuck in the middle. 

“Where is she?”

“She’s in surgery right now. She’s got a compound fracture in her wrist,” Tessa tells him. “But it’s nothing to do with Scott that she got hurt, Alex. You’re completely–” 

“What, Tessa?” 

“–out of line.” 

“This guy’s supposed to be keeping her safe, right?” 

“Accidents happen sometimes. I didn’t blame you when she came off her bike in the yard when you were showing her how to ride it,” she reminds him, her tone cool and lawyerly. (There’s an unuttered implication that she could elaborate with a list, if pushed to it.)

The mention of this, some private moment from long ago, has an unsettling effect on Scott in the background of their interaction. There’s so much he doesn’t know, so much he wasn’t there for, and yet there’s a strangeness about why that feels so remarkable. Wrong, even. 

Alex seems to accept Tessa’s point before she nods to herself almost imperceptibly. “Please just... walk it off, Alex,” she sighs. “I don’t want her to see you all worked up when she comes out of surgery, but she’ll want her dad. I’ll call you when there’s any news. I promise.” 

Alex looks at Tessa, deciding whether to obey, and then glances over her shoulder to see Scott. 

"Don't try to fight me again," Scott warns as their eyes meet, his voice stripped of its usual warmth.

He notices Tessa look back at him in his periphery, but any tension in the moment fades to nothing as Alex decides to walk away. There’s no apology, no surrender, but he strides off towards the exit as though reassigned to a new mission. They watch him together, side by side, as he digs into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes before eventually going out of sight. They don’t make another move until he’s gone.

 

*

 

"He thinks he's protecting her," Tessa explains after, a resigned sense of frustration laced through her words. She gives a shy eye-roll as she looks up at him, her hands gently guiding a damp cloth to the graze under his eye. "Trying to over-correct for a lifetime of having better things to do than be present for his daughter, I guess."

Scott picks at a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt as he mutters, "He could just... be around."

"That's not his specialty." 

"What  _ is _ his specialty exactly?" Scott asks, circling a little close to something real and heavy and off-limits. But she’s close too, her light breaths teasing at the skin of his cheek as she attends to his injury with a careful hand. 

Tessa replies a delicate omission: "Once upon a time, he could be really… charming."

"I thought you'd be a better judge of character," he says, the jab unintentional. 

She flinches a little, her head bowing away from him. When she doesn't reply, Scott pivots. "Listen, I get where he's coming from. If it was my kid who got hurt, I'd be throwing my weight around. And it's not like I've never started a fight."

"Pub brawl?"

"You should see me when the Leafs lose." He says it with such warmth, it sees her shoulders drop and her chin lift just a little. She makes eye contact again before smiling at him. 

Fondly, she remarks, "I forgot about your devoted allegiance."

"Fuck yeah. Go Leafs, go. They’re your team too, right?"

"Definitely."

"How come we never really talked about that before?" he wonders aloud. 

"We've had a lot of other stuff to talk about, I guess," she considers, sounding a little wistful. 

Suddenly, every conversation they've shared flashes through his mind and he realizes for the first time how effortlessly every word has come to him when he's with her. They’ve talked and talked for hours in a near-empty rink and somehow this now crucial-seeming detail has gone amiss. 

He laughs to himself, and when his eye-line drops down, he catches sight of her hands resting awkwardly in her lap. The way the hand closest to him lays upturned and so noticeably empty compels him to reach out. Their fingers intertwine as he squeezes her hand and he says quietly, "It's okay, you know? It's just a bruise. And it's the least I deserve for not stopping Elsie from getting hurt."

"That's not true," Tessa whispers, her voice frayed and unsteady. 

"Are we friends again?"

"I hope so," she sighs out, and then he watches her whole body sink down as her hands cover her face. “Things’ve been so weird and confusing.”

“You stopped… talking to me. About things that mattered, anyway.”

“I was… embarrassed, or ashamed, or I don’t know. It’s not my best decision.” She corrects herself: “ _ He _ ’s not my best decision. I don’t need you… to point that out to me, Scott.”

“Sorry,” he says then, realizing his reaction had perhaps been entirely predictable. 

She goes back to taking care of his eye, as though desperate for the occupation, before, softly, Scott says, “I think it’s alright now, Tess. You don’t have to–”

“I don’t want her to see you like this,” she admits.

“Oh.”

“I–” She tries again, attempting to find a better way to explain it. “I’m just hoping the bruising will go down a little.” 

“I can leave, Tess. If you text me how she is,” he suggests, a little pained at the idea of not seeing for himself. But, much like he was never the one to show Elsie how to ride a bike, he’s not the one who’s supposed to be sat beside her mother in the hospital now. It shouldn’t be him, despite every instinct to the contrary.

“No, she’ll want to see you. Please stay. If you can.” She speaks so quietly, he barely hears her above the white noise of the hospital in the background.

“I’ll stay,” he reassures her. 

Scott then settles back into the chair so that he’s not so close, so that he’s out of reach of the distracting cold cloth she’d managed to acquire from one of the nurses. He stretches out on the chair as though, by pretending it’s a cozy recliner, he can will it into being. Instinctively, he lays an arm along the line of the backrest and over hers too. It proves to be an invitation, the gesture inviting her to slump against him as they wait together. She curls herself into his side, tucking under his arm and resting her head against his chest.

He thinks maybe he’s imagining it when he hears a quiet and tender whisper: “Thank you for staying here with me.” 

 

*

 

By the time Elsie comes out of surgery, Scott’s drifted off; he’s got his head tilted back against the chair and Tessa folded around him. Her arm is stretched across his chest, having slipped between his jacket and his t-shirt where the zip hangs open at the front, and her face is tucked into his neck, slotted perfectly into place.

That’s how the doctor finds them.

“Miss Virtue,” she starts, the words pulling Tessa urgently to her feet without a glance of acknowledgement to Scott, who’s left rubbing his eyes, a little bleary and dazed. 

As the two of them walk a few steps away to discuss how the surgery went, he notices Tessa subtly reach for the phone in her pocket.  _ Alex _ . He winces, the bruise on his face throbbing at the thought. Any hope that he might ever be able to warm to the man in the tailored suit that had shown up to the rink just that once had evaporated in an instant, and Scott feels a sadness at that. It’s a sadness for Elsie’s sake. Elsie, his not-so-secret favourite, who always deserved only kindness and care and people who’ll show up every day – not just sometimes. 

It’s another 45 minutes before Scott gets to see her again. Tessa goes in first, then Alex comes back and goes in with her. In the meantime, he finds himself looking at his phone. There are messages from just about every person he’s ever met. There are a string of texts from Casey, who’d obviously found out from his mother. There are Alma and Carol’s messages – concern and reassurance in equal measure. There’s his dad, one of his brothers, a couple of the other parents. 

In the end, he texts only his mother back with the specifics of Elsie’s injury. 

He’s staring blankly at Casey’s message, wondering quite what to reply to her, when Tessa comes back out again. A tight smile on her face, she quietly says, “Elsie’s asking for you.” 

He slips his phone into his back pocket and follows her lead.

Alex doesn’t turn around when they walk into the room. He’s perched on one side of the bed, looking down at Elsie and rather pointedly not looking anywhere else. Scott finds himself struggling not to glare at the back of his head, desperate to peel back some layer of understanding there. In the centre of the hospital bed, though, a burst of sun breaks out as a broad smile stretches across Elsie’s face she sees Scott. It outshines any shadow her father casts. 

“Coach!” 

He can’t help but smile just as big and bright back at her. He follows Tessa to the other side of Elsie’s bed, hovering beside his friend as she perches on the edge. “Hey, kiddo. How’re you feeling?” 

“Coach, you’ve got a bad eye,” Elsie says, her voice thick and groggy as she ignores his question. There’s something fragile beneath the bleariness, a sense that one wrong word would break through the cheery fog to an eruption of tears. He takes a measure of the moment, studying the open curiosity on Elsie’s expression before shooting a sly glance at her father. Alex bows his head for a moment, then looks up again – this time at Scott – and swallows. There’s an anticipation that hangs between them, and Scott realizes suddenly that he holds all the power between them now. It’s the power to serve Alex some retribution, but embedded in that is also the power to break Elsie’s heart; he can’t have one without the other. 

Carefully, his voice dancing over the words as the roughness of his voice dips in and out, Scott replies, “I, uh, had a little disagreement with one of the revolving doors but… don’t worry, kid, you should see the other guy.” 

Elsie seems to accept the answer quickly, her eyes drifting back to her mom and then her dad. She reaches out for Alex’s hand, but Scott notices him hesitate before twisting around to offer the wrong one, the hand that hadn’t shoved him into a wall only a couple of hours earlier. 

“You’ve gotta be more careful, Coach,” Elsie replies eventually, a little dreamy in the way she says it.

“I think I should be giving you that speech, E,” he says with a laugh. If she notices it’s forced, her expression doesn’t give it away. Instead, she flashes him another smile. 

“I’m gonna be back soon,” she insists.

“Oh, don’t I know it. You’ll be back to keeping me and Joey in line. Plus, now you’ve got your bionic arm, we’ll be even more convinced you’ve got some secret superpowers on the ice.”

“Yeah,” she says, almost drifting off again. 

“There’s no hurry on that front, baby,” Alex interrupts, his hand gently sweeping her fringe out of her eyes. 

“Yes, there is, Dad. Joey needs me.”

“I’m sure Scott here can find Joey another partner in the meantime,” Alex responds, with the casual air of someone who has no idea of the gravity of what they’ve just suggested. 

Elsie’s mouth drops open a little, her bottom lip quivering, before she rolls her head against the pillow to turn toward Tessa. In perfect time with each other, Tessa and Scott both rush to say, “No, no…”

“He’s  _ your _ partner, Els,” Scott adds. “And he’s been dying to know how you are. I’m gonna have to call him and remind him that there’ll be no slacking. He’s got to make sure he’s ready for when the great Elsie Virtue makes her grand return.” 

Elsie just nods quietly before closing her eyes. Scott watches Tessa stroke a hand soothingly up and down her daughter’s arm, just above where it’s encased in a thick, rock-hard cast like her own personal armour. (He can’t help but wish they made them just like that for broken hearts.)

 

*

 

It’s late when he gets home. He couldn’t even hazard a guess at what time it is. All he knows is he’s hungry, he’s tired and his girlfriend’s offer to come over couldn’t seem less appealing at this particular moment. He shoots back a quick, belated reply as he ploughs through an emergency bowl of cereal: “Exhausted tonight, but I’ll see you tomorrow. Elsie was looking better when I left the hospital. It was a nasty break but it looks like the concussion isn’t too serious. Will call in the morning. X”

“Poor kid! No worries, babe. Have a good night’s rest. Sounds like you deserve it. Love you,” she responds within a few minutes, sweet and warm and entirely too forgiving. 

Another text flashes up not longer after, just as he settles into bed. He holds the phone up, the bright light of it stinging his eyes in the dark. This time it’s a message from Tessa. “I really am sorry about what happened. Make sure you ice your eye.”

He sets his phone down on his chest and then falls asleep swiftly, just as the screen turns to black. 


	8. get well soon

****In the absence of both Virtues, Scott’s life otherwise goes back to normal pretty fast. It’s a normal not unlike before he’d met either one of them, a normal that now feels wholly not normal at all.

The extra time he’d spent helping Elsie hone her skills, or teaching Tessa the basics, now stretches out. It hangs there unclaimed, leaving him stroking out across an empty rink or practicing with Joey alone or researching choreography in the back office. There are nights when he leaves the rink early and heads home but, as home has begun to transform into a shared space, most nights he stays. He finds himself unwilling to spend that time with anyone else. Every time his girlfriend suggests an early dinner, in those hours, it feels something like a betrayal. He doesn’t quite have the word for what it truly is.

Nevertheless, he allows her to fold herself into the other pockets of his time. He finds himself enjoying the company, relaxing into her arms at the end of every day, forgetting all of the doubts and worries that had plagued him. There’s a comforting steadiness to having someone occupying this space in his life. Not seeing so much of Tessa does him good, he decides as he’s falling asleep late one night with another woman pressed close against him.

Casey utters a sleepy moan of contentment, her hand reaching back to settle against his thigh as he lines himself up behind her. She’s wrapped in his arms, her dark brown hair falling against the pillow between them. It’s the only thing between them when, quietly, he hears her whisper: “I love you.”

Freshly fucked and half-buried in sleep is the axis where love feels most possible; it’s the moment when he finds himself believing in this, in what it can be and perhaps what it already is.

He kisses her shoulder in the dark before surrendering to a wave of tiredness.

 

*

 

In coaching sessions, the time passes a little slower than it used to. He still loves it – it’s still better than the hour afterwards that always belonged to Tessa – but Elsie’s quiet brilliance had always lit up the ice; it seemed to motivate everyone around her by osmosis. In the aftermath of the accident, the others just seem a little unfocused or, perhaps, spooked.

At the end of one of the sessions on the ice, he finds himself giving a half-hearted speech about commitment and enthusiasm and reaping what you sow. It’s ill-thought-out but well-intentioned, his smile meeting at least a handful of the kids’. Most of them, though, are too busy whispering in each other’s eyes or retying their bun, eliciting a resigned sigh from Scott.

“Coach!” Fern calls back to him once he’s done attempting to rally them, all volume and energy and eagerness, a bolt of lightning bursting through the fog.  

“Yes, Fern?”

“I’ve been thinking about Elsie,” she starts, her name alone capturing his full attention as Joey sidles up beside Fern. “And I really think that we should do something for her. Like a card.”

He skates a little closer as the group disbands, heading back to the boards in the backdrop of their conversation. “I think that’s a great idea, Fern.”

“Yes, so I already made the card last night,” she carries on, steamrolling past him without seeming to listen too closely. She talks without ever seeming to catch her breath. “It’s really big and I just want you to make sure everyone signs it so that it’s all full up, and she knows we’re all really excited for when she’s back. Can you… make everyone do it? I can get it from my bag and I brought gel pens with me so that it’s all colourful inside.”

Scott nods obediently, unable to do much else with Fern and Joey both looking up at him with big, persuasive eyes. Those Puss in Boots eyes.

“Can I be the first to sign it?” he says eventually, the enthusiasm that comes out entirely organic this time. It leaves him trailing happily behind the two kids, following their path over to the boards where Fern’s mom is watching.

There’s a silent exchange between mother and daughter before Fern turns around again to face Scott. From behind her back, she reveals a glitter-soaked card that’s been designed in XL scale with enough embellishments to single-handedly keep Michaels in business for the forseeable future. In the centre, there’s a podium with Elsie’s face cut out and glued to first place. There’s a shiny gold medal around her neck, textured with real red satin ribbon and a gold foil sticker. The “Get Well Soon” message along the bottom is charmingly misjudged in terms of scale, with the letters getting smaller as they approach the edge of the card, each one coloured in its own shade.

He marvels at it for just a moment before looking back up at Fern, who’s rather proudly beaming at him and awaiting validation. “I made it myself, but Joey had the idea for this,” she explains, pointing at the gold medal before nodding towards him.

“Fern, that’s... awesome. She’s gonna love that, kid. How about we do a big announcement now, make sure everyone signs it before they leave? And I can call Elsie’s mom and see when we can give it to her?” he suggests, vacillating between appraising the design and looking up at her.

“Awesome!” She smacks his hand with a high five before skating back to the group, leaving him with her sparkling masterpiece.

He looks down at the empty page, thinking of all he could write, as he hears Fern explaining her idea to all of the other kids. Joey’s there at her side, reiterating the message. “Just write ‘get well soon’ or ‘I can’t wait to see you skating again!’ or something,” he hears Fern reply to one of the kids who’d uttered some faint complaint about not knowing what to say.

Scott picks up the green gel pen and writes, “Get well soon, kiddo. I can’t wait to see you skate again! Those judges aren’t gonna know what hit ‘em when you’re back on the ice!”

It’s what you say when you don’t know what to say. At least, according to a nine-year old.

 

*

 

Scott calls Tessa from the car that night.

He sits in the rink parking lot and listens to the phone ring. It feels loud in the dark silence surrounding him, the sound coarse against his ears until it stops, until she answers, her words a delicate, soothing whisper. “Hello?” It’s quiet on the other end of the line, too.

“Hey,” he begins, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “It’s Scott.”

Tessa breathes out a laugh. “I know it is.”

“Yeah.” He looks down at himself, noticing his leg frantically bobbing, before looking at the window. There are only empty spaces around him. “I, uh… I wondered… The kids’ve put together a card and I was thinking I could drop it in sometime this week, if you aren’t too busy. Thought I could, uh, bring Joey with me maybe. If you’re–”

“Yeah,” she cuts him off. “Yes. You can–”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tessa says it like a breath, the word coming out on a sigh. “Friday night? Maybe? You could come over after practice and… I’ll make dinner. Joey and Elsie can catch up.”

“Yeah,” he replies, suppressing a smile before realizing she can’t see him anyway. His energy lifts at her acceptance, at the way she takes the suggestion and runs with it, at the very idea of dinner. Dinner with Tessa. Tessa and the kids. “Yes. Okay. I’ll check in with Charlie but I’m sure he’ll be cool with me bringing Joe.”

There’s a quiet before he hears, “That sounds good.”

But then he remembers. He remembers the full family portrait, and the outline of a character he so rarely includes in the picture. “Isn’t–”

“He won’t be here.”

“Okay.” Scott’s leg settles at that. He stills and gives the statement a moment to breathe before attempting to lighten the mood. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna buy my bullshit if I get another black eye.”

Tessa soberly replies, “He won’t be around, I promise.”

“Are you okay, T?” is all he can think to say to that.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Tessa sounds tired, but there’s warmth to her tone despite the laconic response. As she pauses, Scott contemplates pushing her on it. He’s not asking it as small talk; it’s a real question, and he knows the real answer goes unspoken. She doesn’t give him the chance to ask before reflecting his question back to him: “Are you?”

When he says, “I’m okay too,” it feels as though the words carry some other meaning.

“Okay,” she says then, laughing faintly on the other end of the line.

He sinks into his seat with the phone pressed to his ear, savouring the sound. And when it ends, when the silence resumes, he savours that too.

 

*

 

Scott spends the rest of the week counting down to Friday night dinner. Time ticks away in the back of his mind, every second until he gets to see her again. Both of them. Either of them. It’s a strange and urgent yearning that he opts not to over-analyze, instead focusing his energies on helping Fern ensure that the card is thoroughly covered in signatures of every colour of the rainbow.

It’s as they’re looking over the pages to check for gaps that Fern decides that she absolutely must come along with him to see Elsie. Scott’s so blindsided by the suggestion and still so unused to being on the receiving end of Fern’s assertiveness (she’s usually talked out of these things by Elsie), that he can’t think of anything to say but yes.

When they show up at Tessa’s door, she stands front and centre, beaming up at Tessa as soon as it opens. She’s clutching a big pink envelope tightly in her hands. Scott feels quite sure that he never stood a chance.

“We have a tag-along,” he explains, nodding his head towards the eager redhead at his feet. “I hope that’s okay. Fern made the card herself, as well as a pretty compelling argument to come with us.”

“Elsie’ll be so happy to see you!” Tessa says, and if the surprise is an unwelcome one, he can’t tell. She paints on the perfect smile, moving to the side to encourage them all – Fern, Joey and Scott, in single file – to come into the house. “I’m making cheesy Milanese chicken. I hope that’s alright with everyone.”

“Sounds fancy, T,” Scott teases, nudging her with his elbow.

“It was an Elsie request,” she explains, an easy smile appearing on her lips at the mention of her daughter, who seems to appear on cue behind her.

“Elsie!” Fern and Joey exclaim together, rushing to greet her but halting a couple of steps in front of her when they notice her sling. Their instinct to hug is suppressed, but the broad grins of all three kids aren’t.

She looks well, her face bright and full of colour again. The matted hair he remembers from the hospital has transformed into neatly brushed waves now, and she’s wearing a bright green skater dress in lieu of the hospital gown. Besides the cumbersome cast that covers most of her arm, she looks completely and utterly herself again.

With all of Scott’s attention honed on Elsie, who folds into her mom’s side as Tessa’s hand settles naturally on her back, he notices the sparkle of her eyes and wonders if a tear might escape. Instead, quiet as ever, she says, “I asked Mom to make the chicken because I know you’ll really like it, Coach. It’s my favourite. And Mom really loads it up with mozzarella to make it extra good.”

“That sounds delicious, E,” he replies, wondering briefly if he might cry himself. She beams up at him and, _fuck_ , if it isn’t just a rush of pride and relief just to see her again, just to see her standing up and smiling.

“Elsie, we got you this,” Fern announces, holding out the pink envelope.

They all stand around in the hallway and watch as Elsie takes out her card, an absurd amount of glitter pouring out as she drags it from the envelope. Scott catches the arch of Tessa’s eyebrows as it happens, metallic silver and gold dusting over her perfectly white floor. _It’s going to be a nightmare to clean_ , he thinks, reading the words written into her expression. But then she relaxes again as Elsie’s eyes wander over the messages, and Scott turns back to watch it himself, having carefully read every one of them before they’d slipped the card into its envelope. He knows exactly when she sees the one in the top corner that says, “You’re a superstar skater. I can’t wait to watch you shine again!”

“Thank you guys,” Tessa says for her, a hand rubbing Elsie’s shoulder absently as she looks from Fern to Joey. “We can put that on the mantelpiece, eh?”

Elsie nods.

“Did you lay the table, baby?” her mom asks next, almost privately, and after Elsie replies with quiet confirmation, Scott and the two kids follow the Virtues through to the dining room.

When he gets there, he notices something.

It’s small. It doesn’t mean anything at all, not really. It’s probably just coincidence, just the way it all ended up working out. Not a conscious choice.

As Elsie directs everyone to their seats, he realizes that the place she’s set for him is the one between herself and Tessa. When she hurries to add a space for Fern alongside Joey’s, Elsie moves her own placemat closer still to Scott’s. It’s a square table, designed for four, and it’s Scott’s side that she chooses to share.

It’s nothing, but it’s almost more than he can bear.

He looks up at Tessa, and when she smiles back, he thinks maybe he can see through the facade. He thinks maybe she feels the same shiver down her spine and butterflies in her stomach that he does. Just maybe.

 

*

 

Elsie is the first one to mention skating, with the others opting to take her lead on the subject. Scott can tell she’s, in equal measure, desperate to know what’s going on and reluctant to hear what she’s missing. It’s natural for them to talk about it, though. It’s as natural for them to talk about skating as it is unnatural for her not to be there every time he comes to the rink now.

She asks about how training is, how Joey is getting on without her. Her voice only strains a little as she speaks, but as Scott glances up at Tessa for guidance on how best to answer, Joey’s quick to reassure her, “Oh, Els. I’m a mess! Uncle Scott’ll tell you. I fell trying to do my spread eagle today! I need you to come back and give me someone to hold onto.”

Laughter bubbles up – first in Elsie, then in everyone else. “You’re doing okay, Joe,” Scott tells him, though he’s grateful that his nephew had had the sensitivity to take a self-deprecating approach.

They’re still riding out their amusement when Joey catches his uncle’s attention with a curveball.

“Uncle Scott, how did you practice when Livvy was injured?”

The mention of Scott’s ex-partner takes the ground out from under him. There’s the momentary clatter of cutlery against plates as everyone stops eating just to look at him, anticipating the answer. Sensing the shift in mood, Joey looks a little like a kid who’s accidentally let a curse word slip out, uncertain of its meaning.

“I, uh… I did drills on my own or practiced with sandbags,” Scott explains, his tone clipped. He punctuates the sentence by eating the mouthful on his fork and then looks up at Tessa to say, “The chicken’s delicious.”

“Livvy?” she pushes him, leaning in with her forearms pressed against the edge of the table. It’s as though she knows she’s dancing closer to the fire but she can’t resist the lure of the flames. The look in her eye as he meets it is a challenge.

“Scott’s partner!” Joey cuts in, all too eager to explain himself.

Scott’s quick to add, “From a long time ago.”

“Uncle Scott doesn’t like to talk about it,” Joey very helpfully explains to Tessa and the girls, and then he starts chewing another mouthful, still blissfully unaware of himself. Scott flinches, then clears his throat.

“Why not?” Elsie chimes in at last, quieter than the rest. There’s a stillness to the way she asks. Her knife and fork are rested either side of her plate, forgotten, as she awaits an answer. Though he’s looking intently at the chicken, he can see her looking up at him in his periphery. She’s entirely focused on Scott and the mystery of the forgotten partner, which is perhaps unsurprising, he considers, given the context.

Unable to find quite the right response, he’s beaten to the punch by his nephew again: “I can’t remember,” Joey says cheerfully. “Uncle Scott, why don’t you like to talk about it?”

“It was a long time ago. Can we–”

“Let’s change the subject,” Tessa finishes for him, an air of faux cheeriness that the children seem utterly oblivious to, even as Scott’s eyes meet hers across the table. He mouths a thank you to her, and then spears his knife through a potato.

Instead of Scott’s skating, they manage to cover the developments of everyone else. _Who’s landing their axels? Who’s partnering up for tests? Who’s dropping out next season? What music are people choosing?_ Elsie reels off question after question, as though she’s come prepared; it’s like she’s learned a script for the evening, gliding smoothly from one talking point to another as each discussion fizzles to a natural end. They do this through dinner, then dessert: a homemade key lime pie that Elsie explains is another of Tessa’s specialities. Scott finds he needn’t do much talking at all, really. The kids barely stop speaking long enough to catch their breaths, with Joey and Fern’s sentences blending together seamlessly as they regale Elsie with the best of the rink gossip.

The evening is over in a blink, the kids ready with half-hearted complaints about their respective bedtimes or home-times. There’s a little whingeing but, after bonding over their common suffering, they’re soon at the door saying their goodbyes without too much fuss.

“If you want to practice with Fern until I’m back, I think that’d be okay,” Elsie says so quietly, Scott barely hears it. Joey and Fern are either side of her in the doorway, and there’s a reflexive protest that comes bursting out of both of them in the way that they look at each other and then back at Elsie like she’s just suggested the craziest thing in the world.

“Me?” Fern points at herself, her index finger pressed hard against her chest.

“You’re the only one who spends enough time with us to know what we’re doing,” Elsie says lightly, a giggle lying underneath it.

“But you’re my partner,” Joey argues.

“I know but I just… don’t want you to stop because of me. I know how much you love to skate. So if you do need to practice with someone, it should be Fern,” Elsie tells them, fixing her expression with a smile to match one of Tessa’s. It’s one that Scott dreads, the one that builds walls instead of bridges. It’s an untruth. But, when Elsie wears it, he can’t help but admire it.

 

*

 

Scott drops the kids home one by one. First Fern, then he drives by his brother’s house to take Joey home. He sticks around for a coffee at Charlie’s, gets to see his baby niece when she stirs for a feed, and then he heads back to his own place.

When he gets home, Casey’s tucked up in bed already but she’s sat up watching a Leafs game on her phone. Instinctively, he walks over to kiss her, expecting only brief contact, but when her hand settles against his cheek, he finds himself perching on the edge of the mattress to linger there. His eyes heavy with sleep, he peers down at the phone screen.

“What’s the result?”

“4-2, nearing the end of the final period,” she tells him softly, the news prompting another gentle press of a kiss. She pauses the video and sets her phone down on the nightstand to give him her full attention. “How did it go tonight?”

“It was a really nice night. Elsie looks so much better, so much more herself.”

“Oh, babe. That’s so good to hear.” She runs a hand from his cheek, along his shoulder and down his arm. “I’m glad you went. You seem more… relaxed now.”

“Yeah, Tessa made a pretty good chicken thing, actually,” he says distantly, getting up to start changing out of his clothes for bed. “She seemed like she was doing better too, less tense than she was. And the kids were happy to be reunited. Oh, and Tessa also gave me some leftover pie to heat up, so… there might be enough for two if you’re lucky.”

“Oh, she can cook, eh?”

“She was quick to tell me that this is one of very few things she can cook but I find it very hard to believe. The food was damn good,” he explains, smiling as his mind drifts back to memories from earlier in the evening.

“You’re making me jealous now. I just had a KD from the back of the cupboard,” she replies, with a short scoff of a laugh.

“Mac and cheese? Can’t go wrong, Case.”

“I don’t know. Next time you’re getting a three course meal, I might have to tag along too. Pull a Fern.”

His heart near stops at just the flippant suggestion. He’s halfway into the ensuite when she says it, his back to her, mercifully hiding the unease in his expression and giving him time to come up with something better than a hard, fast _no_. Instead, mustering the easy tone that had carried the rest of their conversation, he says, “You’re making me feel bad for not taking you out more now.”

“You should feel bad,” Casey teases him.

“I take you out to dinner all the time,” he calls back from the bathroom as he squeezes the tube of toothpaste onto his brush.

“That’s such bullshit!” she protests, laughing at the sheer notion. “I don’t think you’ve taken me anywhere that isn’t a burger place or a pub since you closed the deal. I know I’m not fancy but I wouldn’t mind _occasionally_ being wined and dined, Scott.”

He finds it hard to argue with her assessment. Pushing his toothbrush to one side of his mouth to minimize the garbling of his words, Scott replies, “You may have a point. But we’ll do something big for your birthday, eh?”

“That’s two months away!”

He moves back towards the room, leaning against the doorframe as he looks at her. She raises her eyebrows in challenge at him, a self-satisfied grin breaking out when he says, “Okay, dinner next Friday?”

“Now you’re talking.”

The tension drains out of his body quickly, though he tries not to show it. Scott gives a wink, performing a part now rather than truly feeling it anymore, and then returns to the bathroom sink to spit. When he comes back, teeth freshly brushed and ready for bed, Casey’s sat up against the headboard waiting for him, with one side of the sheets lying a little open. He raises one eyebrow, appraising the situation.

“Now, how about we don’t talk at all for a little while?”

“So easily won over,” he chuckles as he rushes to slide in on his side, meeting her kiss with enthusiasm.


	9. fern's idea

****Scott's used to watching his students change. There are faces that come and go, but the ones that stay, the ones that stick with it for the long haul: those never stay the same. There is the gradual transition into adulthood that transforms each of them in nuanced, idiosyncratic ways, accompanied by the ultimate reward of watching nervous rookies turn into shining stars. (Elsie's already halfway there, this shy, gently-spoken child growing into herself before his eyes.)

With Fern, it happens overnight.

He drops her home after dinner at Elsie's and meets a brand new person at the very next practice. To begin with, she's quiet. It's unheard of. She moves quietly across the ice before settling next to Joey. Not right next to him, but closer to him than to anyone else. It's curious, the way she looks shyly with a sideways glance, careful not to be caught. Only a week before, she'd burst onto the ice at full speed and ploughed right into him in a burst of giggles.

When they begin to skate together, she looks awkwardly from Scott to Joey, as if waiting for instruction. Joey, oblivious to the personality shift that is distracting his coach, suggests they get right to it with the step sequence he had been struggling with prior to Elsie's injury.

"Let's give Fern a little time to, uh, adapt," Scott suggests, careful about his wording.

She only nods. No backchat or silly comments, just a nod.

Things don't get any less odd from there. She continues in silence, uttering – at most – maybe a handful of words through the whole hour. Even Joey begins to look a little perturbed by her sudden silence, at one point asking, "Are you doing... a sponsored silence, Fern?" with no hint of sarcasm.

"No," she says, not even laughing off the suggestion. She just looks down at her feet.

At the end of practice, when Joey's drifted back to the changing rooms, Scott catches Fern on her own. He leans one arm onto the boards to lower himself closer to her height, with a hand on her shoulder.

"Fern, you know you can tell me if you don't want to skate with Joey, right?"

"Yes, Coach," she says, her voice as delicate as Elsie's and her eyes just as evasive.

"Are you missing Elsie?"

She looks up at him at that, her head turning upwards to reveal large, glassy eyes that look at him like he's just said the unspeakable. As though burned by the implication, she replies in a faint gasp: "Of course I am."

"And it's okay if you're not feeling great when you're here, because what happened, you know, I understand that it was scary," he continues, trying to find the right thing to say to placate her without quite diagnosing the problem. "Are you–Is that it?"

"I'm fine, Coach. But I miss her," is all she gives him, a sad shrug accompanying it before she edges away. There’s a shuffle to the way she moves her skates along the ice to escape his attention, the long stride of her typical technique lost to an lacklustre, head-down movement.

She's gone before he quietly mutters to himself, "Me too."

 

*

 

Fern’s meek new personality lingers through other practices. It bleeds into another week, then another. She stays quiet, suddenly terribly awkward around Joey, who Scott can see becoming increasingly aware of the unease. He’s a little older than the girls, all of 16 months older than Elsie, and maybe just starting to shake some of his characteristic social ignorance. There are occasional glances of concern as another step sequence passes in silence, another stumble comes with tumbling apologies, another silly joke goes without a laugh.

The set-up works, nevertheless. A lot of the time, it works. She focuses so determinedly on getting things right, she’s close enough to the right level that Joey’s able to get quality practice sessions from it.

There are moments, though, when Scott watches her and wishes she’d be just a little more _Fern._

At the end of the third week of this new arrangement, he decides to pull her to one side. “Go wait for me with Aunt Cara, Joe. I’m just gonna have a word with Fern a sec,” he says when Joey turns back, the question ready on his tongue. After pushing on her skate guards, Fern obediently follows Scott to two empty seats in the front row and they settle side by side. “How you doing, kiddo?”

“I’m okay,” she replies with a shrug – perky but non-committal.

“You sure? You don’t seem like yourself since you’ve been paired up with Joey.” She doesn’t say anything, looking straight ahead. “If you don’t want to skate with him, you can tell me. I know he’s my nephew but I won’t treat either of you any different, you know.”

“I don’t mind. Really, I don’t.” Fern’s attention remains fixed on the ice, point blank refusing eye contact with Scott. He lets it slide, not wanting to stare her down or make her feel too pressured; instead, he follows her gaze to look out on the rink and the other skaters.

“Okay, but, Fern… what’s going on? A month ago, I couldn’t get a word in and now it’s like drawing blood out of a stone trying to get you to talk to me. I know you’re helping Joe while Els is off, but you don’t have to actually _be_ Elsie.”

Something sparks in her expression and she looks up, her eyes a little wide – as if she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Her voice comes out as small as her eyes are big: “I just want to do it right.”

“Fern?”

“I didn’t want to let them down. I wanted to take it serious.”

“It should still be fun for you, though, kid.”

“But it’s really hard to do it right so I thought if I just did it like Elsie does it, you know? All quiet and serious. I thought that’d be right for Joey.”

“I think you’re freaking him out,” Scott says with a laugh. “He wants you to be you and Elsie to be Elsie. I promise. You’ve been doing really well with him. I know sometimes he gets impatient because he knows things that maybe you haven’t learned yet, but that’s just Joey not realizing. He’s the same as you. He wants to be good for Elsie. And you want to be good for Elsie.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, her tone like _duh_.

“But have you thought about, really, what Elsie would think? Because I think just the two of you keeping going, waiting for her to come back – that’ll be enough for her. And if she comes back and you’re still quiet as a mouse, she’s gonna worry just as much as I am.”

“You think she wants me to talk more?”

Under his breath, he mumbles, “Man, am I gonna regret this at some point,” and then, “Yeah, kid. I think Elsie just really wants to be back here, having fun with you.”

“Okay,” she accepts, already straightening up in her seat. With newfound energy, she turns to ask, “Do you think she could come and watch sometime soon? Like maybe she could help you show me what to do?”

“It depends how she feels. Maybe she’ll feel more left out by having to watch what she can’t do yet,” he explains, having the debate in his own head even as he speaks the words aloud to Fern.

“I thought she might feel more included if she was still here with us.”

“How about I talk to her and see? I think it’s a great idea to ask, Fern,” he’s quick to add, giving her the opportunity to smile proudly at him; she preens only a little at the validation. It’s enough for her to decide that their conversation is over. In the most Fern-like move since the partner switch, she abruptly bursts out of her seat and skips off to the changing room in a blur.

 

*

 

The moment he utters the first sentence of the pitch to Tessa over the phone, she’s in. The level of her enthusiasm takes him by surprise, steamrolling over the explanation of Fern’s idea while he’s still floundering for the right words. There’s a confused mix of urgent agreement spilling from her, an out-of-character admission that, “Yes, yes. Please. She’d love that. I know she would. She’s–yes. Yeah, we’ll come down the next training session. Is that okay? Is it still the same time?”

And he’s left to simply say, “Yes, same as always. Anytime.”

“She really needs it.”

“I would’ve asked sooner if I’d known. Tess, you could’ve just told me–”

“I didn’t want to burden–”

“ _Tess_ ,” he replies, knowing that his meaning is wrapped up in the single syllable.

Instead of answering, he hears the background noise on her end of the line as she moves from one room to another. He’s listening from the driver’s seat of his car in an empty parking lot all over again and there’s silence save for her breaths, then light footsteps, a door opening, a door closing, a knock, then–

“Sweetheart,” she says, and he knows it’s for Elsie but the warmth of it makes him feel a little dizzy. Her voice moves over the word like butter, smooth and even and softening still as she speaks it. It’s laced with affection, and there’s a strange pleasure to overhearing the private exchange between mother and daughter; it feels as if he’s part of it, as if she’s about to ask what Elsie wants for dinner so that he can pick it up from the store. As if he’s a part of their lives. As if he fits here too.

He closes his eyes at the thought.

“Els, Scott’s wondering whether you want to come down and help him with coaching sometime. I think he could use a little expertise, eh?” The lightness of it is forced, but Scott smiles at the attempt anyway.

“Really?” is the small, hopeful reply he hears – distant but unmistakable.

“Yeah, you wanna?”

He doesn’t hear anything in the space between the question and Tessa switching her attention back to the phone to say, “Oh yeah, she’s in.” There’s a giggling beneath it that earns something similar, an empty, silent laugh between Scott and himself under the cover of darkness.

“I’ll see you–”

“–tomorrow!”

And then the phone cuts out, the eager promise of _tomorrow_ echoing in the silence.

When tomorrow comes, it comes slowly – painfully slowly, after a night of no sleep. It’s a night spent awake, with Casey lying fast asleep beside him as he stares up at the ceiling, his eyes adjusting so well to the darkness after so long wide open that he can make out every detail of the room. He doesn’t know what time it is when he eventually does fall asleep, only that the alarm feels like it goes off a matter of seconds later. It’s a night’s sleep that passes in a blink after hours and hours of thinking and overthinking – about her, about Elsie, about the right things to say, the wrong things to say, and the fact that it all matters so much for reasons he can never quite put his finger on.

The day is a caffeine-powered struggle, only energized truly by the start of practice. There’s no sign of a single Virtue at first, but Joey and Fern are ready to go, with no idea about the special guest he’s holding out for.

They’re in the middle of some backwards crossover drills when the moment comes.

“Hey,” Tessa calls out, catching his attention from the boards, with Elsie beside her – big, green eyes wide and fixed on where Joey and Fern are practicing.

Scott feels himself light up in a burst at her attention, the rightness of them being there so immediate and intense. A smile breaks out across his face, growing wider as Tessa’s expression reflects it.

“You come here often?” she teases, her eyebrow quirking just a little, but enough to leave him flustered. Enough that he loses the glide of his blade, stumbling a little to stay on his feet. “Not often enough, it seems,” he hears her add before he can glance back up.

Realizing he doesn’t have a smart retort for her and unnerved by the length of the pause between them, instead he warmly responds, “You’re here.”

If it sounds as dumb out loud as it does in his head, Tessa doesn’t give it away. She looks down at Elsie as if waiting to see if she’ll reply for them, but the young girl just bites her lip. She runs a reassuring hand through Elsie’s hair, an affectionate touch that seems to come like second nature.

“You missing it, kiddo?”

Elsie nods silently, her head bowing to hide the full truth of it.

With an exaggerated sigh of relief, he leans conspiratorially to say, “I think Fern’s got about five million questions for you so I’m glad you’re here!”

Eagerly waiting to command Elsie’s full attention, Fern and Joey start to close in from behind Scott. They rush to where she’s peering over the boards, babbling more words a minute than he can manage to decipher. With all three of them – well, mainly just two of them – talking, talking, talking, it sounds like white noise from the sidelines of the conversation. It’s all familiarity, all private terms and kid nonsense, not meant for the ears of adults and not always in a language they could understand even if they tried. It leaves Tessa and Scott out, left entirely to each other. A stare, a smile: that’s their private language.  

Using the distraction, Tessa leans herself over the line of the boards as Scott edges nearer too. “I was kinda hoping we might be able to swing a little ice time after. Nothing fancy, just… I think it’d do her good to just glide around a little, ice under her feet again. She’s going a little stir crazy and if I have to watch one more figure skating movie, I’m gonna lose it,” she explains, a pleading tone underpinning the message.

He can’t help but laugh a little at the desperation in Tessa’s expression. “Oh yeah?”

“I swear, _The Cutting Edge_ might be the worst thing I’ve ever had to sit through. I’m not exaggerating. I once sat through _102 Dalmations_ for her and, I swear to you, this still might’ve been worse. The girl in it was so mean! And Elsie was just sat there, hypnotized every time she saw ice.”

“Oh god. I had to watch that with a girl once and…” He pulls a face.

“Yes, and Scott, there are sequels!” Her eyes are wide, as if to exaggerate the point. He’s chuckling, his head thrown back, as she carries on – letting the melodrama of her delivery snowball with every word. “They made that movie and then they made at least two more.”

“Oh, no!”

“Oh, _yes_ . And she wanted _Ice Princess_ on. She even gave me a face when I said she wasn’t allowed _Blades of Glory_. She tried to use that sad little sling to break my resolve.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, practically just mouthing it. “She’s nine!”

“ _I know_! Believe me, there was zero chance of it happening but my girl gave it her best shot.”

He’s still laughing it off as he appraises the situation. His voice warm and easy, Scott says, “So you just needed to get out of the house?”

Tessa smiles then. It’s an unreadable one this time: something fond and wistful, its true meaning kept below the surface, hidden no matter how long his gaze lingers. And his gaze lingers. “Something like that.”

“How about as soon as these kids are done, I kick ‘em all off the ice and you, me and E take a little spin around the rink, eh?”

In a burst of excited relief, Tessa rises up onto her tiptoes. “Did I ever tell you you’re the best?”

“No, you didn’t but please feel free to tell me anytime.”

“Oh, I should feel that freedom?” Her eyebrows raised, she nods with every word, a crease forming between her eyebrows as a smile breaks out across her face.

“You absolutely should.”

There’s an eye-roll ready for him, but her laughter undoes it. “The best, Scott Moir,” she replies sincerely, leaning over the boards just enough to reach his cheek with a kiss. He has to turn away and glide off just to hide the bloom in his cheek, abruptly clapping his hands together to get the session started again.

Voice big and loud, though he doesn’t look in Elsie’s direction, Scott calls out, “Now that we have some real expertise in the house…”

 

*

 

When it’s over, this time, Fern is full of life and smiling. Her cheeks are flushed as red as her hair, with all the colour of her personality bursting out as she rushes over to give Elsie the biggest hug they can manage with the boards and a plaster cast between them. The two girls beam at each other as they draw back, with Fern quick to say, “You’ll be so much better than me when I’m back! You always just know what to do.”

“It was fun being bossy,” Elsie admits quietly, a mischievous giggle accompanying her words that prompts Scott to seek out Tessa’s eye-line.

“Are you gonna do some practice now, Els?” Joey asks, noticing that she and Tessa have put their skates on. Scott can tell that he’s cautious not to imbue it with too much weight. It’s encouragement, not pressure, and somehow the kid manages to strike the balance exactly, earning a bright, shining nod from his partner.

“Yeah, Mom says I’m allowed to just skate around a little bit. Nothing fun.”

“Hey, we can make it fun!” Scott argues, catching them by surprise – their private bubble of three burst suddenly by his loud enthusiasm. “I’ll make them put on Taylor Swift music for you, and we can get your mom to attempt some new tricks.”

“Mom can’t do tricks,” Elsie replies, her voice silly and light. As soon as the words escape, her mouth clamps shut as if she’s misspoken, but Tessa is quick to reassure her.

“You can show me some tricks, can’t you?” her mom teases, and her tone matches Scott’s perfectly. Eager to demonstrate her enthusiasm, Tessa steps onto the ice and lingers there until Elsie joins her.

Scott carries it on as they settle beside him: “Between the two of us, we can get your mom stunting, eh, kiddo? You can choreograph for us.”

Fern and Joey’s heads whip around to look at Elsie as if she’s just stumbled upon buried treasure and they know it. The reaction is instantaneous and unsubtle, its strength taking Scott by surprise. With her two friends looking at her, faces full of anticipation, Elsie calmly asks, “I can choreograph for you and Mom?”

“What d’you say?” Scott turns to Tessa, his arm reaching out for her hand as if there’s no time to waste.

She takes it, squeezing something like _don’t let go_. “I’m in. But remember… you know… I can’t…”

“You’ll be fine,” he says, laughing it off as he pulls her towards centre ice.

Joey and Fern hurry to get off the ice, moving around to the other side of the boards as Elsie just stays rooted to the spot, watching them. With one arm hanging in the sling, she’s less able to skate with the familiar, easy glide that usually comes as second nature; it leaves her reluctant to distance herself from the boards, but when Tessa looks back to check on her, the wattage of her smile makes that gap between them evaporate. She’s with her, and when Scott pulls Tessa’s attention back to him, he can see it in her eyes: _for Elsie_.

He gives her a little nod, a promise that he’ll take care of her, and then his gaze goes to Elsie. “How do you want us to start then, E?”

She holds herself, one-armed, in a position for Tessa to copy and for Scott to respond to, before describing how she wants them to circle each other, then come together for a dance hold. As they follow her command, tentative but consistent with her instructions, he finds familiarity in the dance as he attempts to turn every word into a movement. There are pieces of Elsie’s own choreography woven in, no doubt freshest in her mind, and there are sequences that echo another time in his life. It transports him back to when he was competing, when he’d had the voices of his coaches – more forthright and assertive than Elsie – calling out a commentary as he and Livvy would practice over and over. And then there’s Tessa and the way she fits inside his hold like it’s where she belongs. She’s the perfect height for him, maybe an inch shorter than Livvy had been, and follows his lead with determination set in her expression. She struggles through the choreography but her resolve persists, never letting her smile slip as she attempts to match Scott step for step.  

He can’t help but be mesmerized by the way she interprets it, allowing him to show her what Elsie means and then turning it into something else, something better. There’s the quiet feedback from Elsie in the background and then there’s the two of them, spinning and gliding and dancing around an otherwise empty rink; the backdrop is a blur, the foreground only Tessa as they move together.

He doesn’t even notice himself getting tired, too caught up in the joy of it. It’s as though every practice they’ve shared in their private ice time was preparation for _this_ , for letting Elsie find some new way to love her sport and a new way to connect with Tessa. And by the way Tessa keeps glancing at her daughter, concern and pride becoming one singular mood in the midst of it, he knows she would dance all night long if Elsie needed her to.

“You know, uh… those figure skating movies aren’t the only thing she’s been watching,” Tessa says, as they catch their breaths between step sequences. Their newly-appointed taskmaster allows them a moment to compose themselves.

“Oh no?”

“No. She, uh… she did some sleuthing.”

“Sleuthing?”

“I think Joey and Fern may have assisted at school.”

He glances over to where Joey and Fern had been watching from behind the boards. They’d been dragged away by their respective parents at some point while Scott had been skating, but Elsie’s bag and bottle are set to the spot still and she lingers there in the break. “Why do I feel like I’m gonna need to make them do extra drills or something?”

“They found some of your old skating videos,” Tessa confesses suddenly, her eyes expectant as his head snaps back around to look at her.

There, he freezes: “They–”

“Elsie was watching you and Livvy at Junior Worlds.” She grimaces, the attempt at a smile getting caught up in anxiety. And then her words soften, the pursuit of distant praise peeking out between the gaps as she utters, “You… you never told me you won. You won Worlds?”

“ _Junior_ Worlds.”

There’s a scoff, not a harsh or mocking one. “Scott. Still.”

It hits a button within him that automates a reaction, an eruption. Without meaning to, the edges of every word sharpen, his tone becoming antagonistic. “Did she try searching for the year after? The year after that? She must’ve run out of entertainment pretty fast. No wonder she was burning through those movies.”

“No, there weren’t many but–”

“It was a long time ago,” is all he’ll say on the matter. It’s cold and detached. The space between them stretches out as far as the space between Scott and his past all of a sudden.

She rallies, stubborn with her attempt to compliment him despite everything. “Still. You were good. And considering… I don’t know. It didn’t seem like something to hide. It felt like something I should know, I guess.”

_Something she should know_. He watches the way she swallows after she says it, holding eye contact with him anyway, as if refusing, just this once, to back away from the truth of it. It’s strange, he considers, how true it feels. And yet it’s the first time that he’s noticed her acknowledge any reflection of the instinct he has: that part of himself that yearns for every detail of her, curiosity retracing the lines of her face and every story they tell.

“For all your talk about me not… opening up, you do a pretty good job of hiding things yourself, you know.” Before he can argue, she changes tack a little. “I–I get it. Maybe it’s painful to think about all that and you don’t want to talk about it now, but I just… wanted to _know_ you.”

“You–”

“It’s a part of you. It’s… skating. It’s the reason we’re here, right? And yet you want to pretend it never happened? It happened, Scott. It’s the biggest achievement I can even imagine and you should be celebrating it – _forever_ . You should’ve seen her face when she found out that you won. It was like it just happened, like she was watching it in real time. It _inspired_ her, Scott. That’s what you could do with that. So, why don’t you?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“But when she watches that video, that’s her coach right there. It’s not like there are a ton of world champions walking around the place. You matter to her, and you did that. And it’s her dream. Surely you can understand why it matters so much.”

“I guess. I just… wanted to move forward.”

“I get that. Believe me, I get that more than anyone. But there are good things to take away from the past too, eh? I’ve got her,” she says, gesturing her head in the direction of Elsie, who’s still skating small strides as she waits for them, staying close to the boards. Tessa then turns back to Scott. “You’ve got a gold medal that I’m willing to bet you’ve left gathering dust in your parents’ attic.”

He looks over at Elsie, watching her drag her feet along the ice. “We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“Hey, Scott.” Her voice stops him as he turns toward their newly-appointed coach. “If you ever do want to talk about it–”

“Thanks.”

“Is it okay if Elsie watches the video sometimes?”

He shrugs. “Cat’s out of the bag, I guess.”

Tessa lays a hand on his arm, the surprise of it prompting him to look down at the gesture to check he’s not imagining it. “Scott, I–”

She’s cut off by the sound of his phone, an outdated ringtone bursting loudly from his pocket. The coarse sound pierces the moment with an abrupt and violent burst. She draws her hand back as if stung by a nettle, letting it hang loosely at her side again as if the gesture had never happened, and he’s staring, waiting, dumbfounded and left hoping for the end of her sentence. But the sound persists, and then suddenly he’s fumbling for it.

Scott glances briefly down at the caller ID, the name in big, undeniable letters across the screen prompts him to turn away a little from the conversation. “Hey, Case.”

“Hey babe,” she replies quickly, blissfully ignorant of her interruption. “Do you have time to drop by the store on your way back? We need some toilet paper, toothpaste, salad stuff and, ummm, could you get me those yoghurts I like? And maybe stop by the LCBO and pick up some beers for tomorrow night too?”

“I’m still at the rink.”

“You’re working late?”

“Yeah.”

“Umm, okay. Well–”

“Aren’t you done with work by now?” he says, pulling his phone away from his ear to check the time.

“Babe, it’s Thursday. It’s poker night. I’ll be at Mike and Karen’s till late.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Scott runs a hand through his hair, sensing the awkwardness of their conversation becoming more conspicuous. “I can… I can go after.”

There’s a pause where he anticipates her approval, but nothing comes. He turns back to Tessa in the silence to find her moving in vague, half-hearted circles. When he catches her eye, he paints on a polite smile, before eventually, he hears, “I’ll see you later then.”

“See you tonight, Case.”

“Okay. Love you, bye,” she replies automatically.

There’s a strained silence as he slides the phone back into his pocket, before Tessa breaks first. “One of your admirers?” Her tone is clipped, the words sounding strangled in her throat. He catches a little crinkle appear above her nose, but it goes as soon as it comes.

“I don’t think so at the moment. I think she’s, uh, pretty fed up with me. I don’t make a very good boyfriend, turns out. I’ve been so swamped here lately and I–”

He’s halted by the realization of his own misstep. Foot-in-mouth. Because there it is. _So swamped_. Never too swamped to make time to dance around this ice rink long after practice is over. Never too swamped to call from an empty parking lot, the quiet conversation stretching out languorously, without a hint of hurry. Never too swamped for Tessa.

If she notices, she doesn’t say a word. Perhaps she doesn’t say a word because she needn’t. It echoes in the silence, hanging between them and ringing over and over with a truth that he can’t quite accept.

It goes on too long before he fumbles for something else to say, landing on, “I’m gonna make it up to her for her birthday.”

“Big plans?”

“Nothing yet. I’ve got to make some or else she really will abandon all hope.”

“Well, what does she like?”

“Uhhhhh,” he drags out the sound of it. “Poker. Burgers. Hockey. _Drag Race_. Sometimes me.”

Tessa laughs. “Well, maybe don’t rely wholly on that part then.”

“I was thinking I could take her away on a trip. I thought about taking her to a Leafs game but I have a feeling that if I copy what she did for my birthday, she may give up on me completely.”

“Not if you got good Leafs seats,” she counters.  

“T, I’m not kidding. I think we could be sat next on the subs bench and she’d still be giving me the cold shoulder. I’m really gonna have to do something big here,” he jokes.

“So dramatic.”

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough.”

“Oh, come on. You could charm your way out of anything,” she says – and it’s the final salvo, the whistle blown, the mic dropped. Just as he catches the words, scrambling for what to do with them, she escapes in a rush, skating down the ice to meet Elsie.

 

*

 

Scott arrives home with his hands full, laying out the items of her shopping list across their kitchen worktop before putting them all in their rightful places. It’s not too much later, not as late as he’d expected, when Casey gets home. She bounces into the kitchen, her feet lightly skipping across the tiles to where he’s leaning against the counter to watch hockey on the TV in the corner of the room.

“Hey, winning hand tonight?”

“You bet!” she says, punctuating it with a firm peck of a kiss. She leaves her weight pressed against him as he puts down the beer in his hand to wrap his arms loosely around her. “You know you could watch TV in the living room instead of on this tiny thing.”

“I like it better in here.”

“You’re so weird.” She rolls her eyes as she says it, but her smile softens the blow. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay soon. I’m so exhausted. Are you staying up?”

“I might stay up a little longer, see the end of this.”

Shifting into a tone he finds unsettling, carrying with it a strange, nervous tension that has her pulling back a little, she says, “I thought you’d be tired from staying so long at work.”

“I am but…”

“Right.”

“Case–”

“Listen, all I'm saying is that between your shifts at the skate shop and the rink and all the other stuff, I feel like I hardly get to see you. And, I know this might come as a shock to you, my boyfriend, but I actually like you. I'd like to spend time with you. If you could squeeze me into your very busy and important schedule."

Rolling his eyes with a laugh, Scott leans down with a kiss to appease her, his hand moving to hold her cheek. “I'm sorry. You're right. I just... it's important to me too. It's all important. I just need to... make more time."

“Listen, I know you're Mr Popular at that rink. I know everybody wants a piece of my guy, but you just gotta give me my piece sometimes."

“You can have your piece," he says back to her, bobbing his head agreeably before sealing the promise with another kiss.

“Okay, good,” she responds, pressing her lips to his with something deeper before visibly brightening. “And I think you would do well to remember this little chat we're having when you're thinking about what to get me for my birthday."

“I'm bad at birthdays," he whines.

Casey shakes her head. “That's not the attitude. Come on."

“Can you just tell me what you want?"

“I just told you!"

“Okay. Okay."

“Okay?" she laughs then, his resignation plain to see. “Well, I’ll leave you to your emergency online shopping then, shall I? I’m going to bed.”

He watches her leave, footsteps dragging slow and heavy even as he hears them down the hall. There’s the sound of the light in the bathroom turning on, the buzz of the toothbrush, the chime of porcelain against plastic, the click of the light turning off, and then the door closes. He hears her close the bedroom door, waiting for no sounds at all but the white noise on his TV screen.

That’s when he moves across the room to his laptop, taps in his password, then his search terms. And then it’s there. Everything that Elsie and Tessa had uncovered of his past, right there, and before he knows it, he’s hitting play. The opening strains of their music start and there he is, 18 again and gliding purposefully across the ice like it’s where he belongs. He watches his younger self move, every step of it muscle memory by that point in the season. It’s like he’s back there, back to not knowing that it ends, back to feeling invincible.

It’s the feeling of being somebody.

It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt – not once, not for a minute – until then, that day, with their improvised, scrappy choreography courtesy of a nine-year-old and fuelled only by cheap coffee.

_It’s her dream_ , he remembers.

The stinging memory of that long-ago championship had always centred on him. It had been about all of the lost potential, the abandoned dreams, the sacrifices wasted. Now, for the first time, the memory transforms into something else, something entirely new. It’s Elsie’s dream and the very fact that he’d gotten somewhere close had made it all the more possible in her eyes. Watching it back doesn’t hurt so much when he looks and sees all that it could be for his students.

The feeling that he used to be somebody doesn’t weigh so heavy when he considers that maybe he still is somebody to them. At least to one little girl. One little girl with dreams so big, they would swallow her up whole if she weren’t fierce enough to fight for them.

As his younger self skates the end of the program, narrowly missing the edge of the boards in a moment of adrenaline that comes rushing back, Scott smiles to himself. He sees it dawn on the kid on the screen that he’s just won gold, the way his whole face lights up at the scores and he bursts out of his seat to celebrate. Livvy’s there too, leaping up with him before throwing her arms around him, her hand clapped over her mouth in shock.

It was a good day. Even with all that came after, it was a good day.   


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! All comments, thoughts and encouragement very much appreciated.


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